Mage Rising
by DeusExMatty
Summary: Hermione falls at the Ministry and Harry goes nuclear. 3rd person omniscient; alternative 6th year and beyond. HP/HG
1. Remade

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. The italics that open this chapter are quoted from _Order of the Phoenix _pp. 791-792.

Summary: Hermione falls and Harry goes nuclear.

**Chapter 1: Remade**

_With a cry of triumph, both [Death Eaters] yelled, "_IMPEDIMENTA_!"_

_Harry, Hermione, and Neville were all knocked backward off their feet. Neville was thrown over the desk and disappeared from view, Hermione smashed into a bookcase and was promptly deluged in a cascade of heavy books; the back of Harry's head slammed into the stone wall behind him, tiny lights burst in front of his eyes, and for a moment he was too dizzy and bewildered to react._

"_WE'VE GOT HIM!" yelled the Death Eater nearest Harry, "IN AN OFFICE OFF—"_

"Silencio_!" cried Hermione, and the man's voice was extinguished. He continued to mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out; he was thrust aside by his fellow._

"Petrificus Totalus_!" shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms and legs snapped together and he fell forward, facedown onto the rug at Harry's feet, stiff as a board and unable to move at all._

"_Well done, Ha—"_

_But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand from which flew a streak of what looked like purple flame. It passed right across Hermione's chest; she gave a tiny "oh!" as though of surprise and then crumped onto the floor where she lay motionless._

"_HERMIONE!"_

Suddenly oblivious to everything around him, Harry crumpled to his knees next to the fallen form of his best female friend. An angry red line of Hermione's lifeblood was already seeping through her shirt between her breasts. Internal dams Harry had long held in check—sadness, anger, betrayal, despair—were creaking under the intense pressure of watching Hermione struck down by the Death Eater now standing in front of him. Harry realized the Death Eater, whom he recognized as Antonin Dolohov, was casting spells at him, but they were all dissipating in front of him as if they were encountering some kind of shield.

Harry's eyes turned back toward Hermione. His mind was a whirlwind of panic and paralyzed rage. He didn't know the first thing about tending to her wounds, if she was even still alive…

And with a deep mental jolt he realized that whatever curse Dolohov had used might have been fatal. He could be looking at the corpse of his best friend right now; the girl that had stuck with him through everything, even when he was hacked off at her back in third year over the stupid broom. Ron might have been his first friend, but Hermione was definitely his best friend, and if he was honest with himself, he hoped to someday call her more than just a best friend. He hoped to call her his girlfriend. He had slowly been falling in love with her, if he even knew what love truly was, since sometime during first year. And now, because he'd _insisted_ they go on this little adventure to the Ministry, she could be dead on the floor in front of him.

Without even realizing the sob that escaped his lips, he started crying at the thought of living life without Hermione. She was his rock. She talked him down when he was being impossibly stubborn. He was her rock too, though. He had talked her down countless times from similar states. They understood each other well enough to have entire conversations with facial expressions, leaving unsaid what need not be uttered. It had always worked like that with them. But now, if she was gone, that part of his life would forever be missing. He might never see her bright smile waiting for him as he descended to the common room in the mornings.

His fists clenched on the floor as his tears fell on Hermione's crumpled form. He felt so useless, leaning over her but unable to do anything about her injury, or even ascertain whether she lived or died.

Those blocks that had been in place since he'd known himself as "boy" were cracking along long-buried fault lines, letting all of the emotions he had refused to feel course through his system, which was already wired from the adrenaline and magic of the last ten minutes. Despair at Hermione's motionless form, rage at everything and everyone including himself that had allowed events to get to this point, and betrayal at the cruel bitch of fate for taking _everything_ he had _ever_ knowingly or unknowingly cherished from him were just a small sample of the cornucopia of emotions swirling through him.

As Harry let out an anguished cry of grief and frustration, eldritch arcs of magic snapped out from his kneeling form, scorching the walls where they impacted. Neville, having just stood up from behind the desk, ducked quickly back down. Dolohov stopped casting the ineffectual spells at Harry, staring at the young wizard with wide eyes. One of the magical bolts had passed fairly close to his body; he could still feel the raw magical power in the air all around him.

Before his self-preservation kicked in, though, another wave of magic exploded from Harry, causing several more magical lightning bolts to flash out from his body. One directly impacted Dolohov's head. The resulting sizzling explosion splattered the wall behind the falling Death Eater's body in smoking gore.

Harry had eyes for only Hermione. His thoughts and his feelings and his entire existence were focused on the lovely face of Hermione Granger; even in what he supposed was death, her features were graceful.

His face crumpled and, heedless of her injury, he gathered her limp form in his arms, cradling her against his chest as he rested back on his laurels. He was crying harder now, unable to stem the flow of emotions and magic, and uncaring anyway. His magical core felt like it was undulating in the strongest tide imaginable, ebbing and flowing in a much more robust way than he'd ever felt before. But that observation was barely cognizant; Hermione was his entire world at the moment.

"Hermione," he choked out. Her blood was all over him now. She had lost so much blood.

This time the magical pulse was much more powerful. It immediately shattered every single one of the Ministry's tracking devices throughout the building. Rather than eldritch bolts of magical fire, this pulse manifested as a physical shockwave that emanated from Harry's body, radiating outward in three dimensions in a sphere, traveling through walls and floors and ceilings on its way. Neville was thrown off his feet again, though he was unharmed.

As it swept through the Ministry, it upended desks, bookcases, shattered the false windows, and utterly destroyed the entire Hall of Prophecy.

Before that pulse had completely faded, which it did just as it reached street level, another blew forth from Harry's beleaguered magical core, which was fueled by the strongest and most desperate emotions he had ever known.

This was the wizard that had driven away over one hundred Dementors with a single Patronus when he was thirteen; most magical people could not even cast a corporeal Patronus, and those who could would be hard pressed to defend themselves against more than two Dementors.

This was the wizard that had forced Voldemort's wand to submit in the graveyard at the end of the previous year, something he could have only done if he had more raw magical potential than the Dark Lord.

This was the wizard that had lit his _wand_ from three feet away with a standard _lumos_, something which was supposed to be impossible based on the laws of magic they had all learned in Charms with Flitwick. Wandless magic was certainly plausible, but manipulation of a wand without it being in hand was impossible—except for Harry.

This was the wizard that had been fighting _and winning_ an unconscious battle with the soul fragment of Voldemort inside his head for his entire life, something even a Master Occlumens like Snape or Dumbledore would not have been able to maintain over such an extended period of time. And Harry had no such Occlumency mastery.

His true magical power was quite frankly off the known scale, and it was finally being unleashed from his expanding magical core as the pulses increased in frequency and potency. No living being was standing in the Ministry now, all having been knocked to the floor, including Dumbledore who had just arrived in the Veil Chamber and Voldemort who was lying in wait in the Atrium.

Harry could feel his magic changing and growing, surprisingly not an unpleasant sensation, but he ignored that in favor of examining Hermione's limp form in closer detail, doing his best through his pooled tears to look at her. With every pulse of magic he could feel escaping his body, a curious thing happened: some of Hermione's blood disappeared.

His best friend's modesty the farthest thing from his mind at that moment, he reached up and quickly ripped the collar of her shirt down the middle, stopping just below her bra.

Harry clenched Hermione tighter at what he saw, increasing the tempo and power of the magical pulses that were still pouring from his body. Vaguely, he could hear Neville shouting his name in the background.

There was a deep, jagged wound between the swells of Hermione's breasts, deep enough for Harry to catch fleeting glimpses of her sternum and ribs. It was ugly and gory, and if it wasn't Hermione he was holding he probably would have been sick.

As his core's pulses continued, he watched as first the wound stopped bleeding; then the edges began to knit together slowly; the muscle and gristle beneath her skin repaired itself as well, covering the shocking whiteness of her sternum before the skin closed over that too.

He could hardly believe his eyes. He wiped his hand down the area between her breasts, clearing away more of the blood. He stared in shock. Where moments ago there had been a mortal wound, there was now only a faint scar, slightly resembling the same lightning bolt on Harry's own forehead, though far larger.

Then her shirt knitted together too, preserving her modesty. It was still stained with some of her blood, but she was no longer in danger of bleeding out.

Harry didn't know what to think.

"HARRY!"

Neville's voice finally penetrated the hazy fog of emotions, magic, and confusion in Harry's brain.

"Just hold on, _please_, Hermione," Harry muttered, lifting her toward his face in his arms and planting a soft kiss on her cool forehead. "For me, Hermione," he said. "I love you," he whispered.

He finally turned to Neville, and as he did, the magical pulses, which were coming so fast and furious now as to be indistinguishable from each other, abruptly stopped. The smell of ozone was thick in the air.

The world was supremely quiet for a brief moment, quiet enough for Harry to think he was able to hear the traffic on the street far above his head.

Then Neville was struggling out from beneath the remains of the desk, which must have crumbled at some point under the onslaught of Harry's power. Luckily, he looked mostly unharmed, though his wand was shattered into three pieces and forgotten in his hand as he stared with wide, disbelieving eyes at Harry.

"Harry, what did you do?" Neville asked, awe coloring his voice. "Is Hermione alright?" the next question came, right after the first.

"I don't know, Neville," Harry said, standing with her in his arms. It felt effortless to him, as if she weighed nothing.

Something pricked at the edge of his magic. He focused on it and realized that it was a familiar, ugly sensation—Voldemort was in the building. Harry focused harder and located the source of this malignant magic. The Dark Lord was in the Atrium.

He looked back into Neville's eyes. "Voldemort's here."

Neville flinched and looked around quickly. "He is? Where?"

"The Atrium," Harry told him. "He's up there waiting for us to emerge. I need you to take Hermione, Neville."

"Sure, of course," Neville said, stepping forward and holding out his arms. His eyes were wide still but he seemed to be trusting Harry completely.

"Be careful with her. I don't think I will be long."

"You have my word, Harry."

Harry nodded and handed Hermione to Neville, who grunted slightly under the weight.

"Keep her safe," Harry said; he then focused on Voldemort's magical signature and translocated to the Atrium. He didn't think it was Apparation, since he had made no noise, but it was instant.

He was greeted by the sight of the long Atrium with its Floos. At the opposite end were the lifts and the Fountain of Magical Brethren. It was completely silent and empty.

"Come out, Tommy," Harry called, drawing his wand and looking around. He could feel his magic flexing in anticipation of the coming fight. It amazed him that he could feel his core so closely now, as if it was completely and undeniably under his control. He _knew_ he could make it do whatever he wanted.

Dark chuckles filled the Atrium. The sound seemed to be coming from all around, but Harry could pinpoint precisely where Voldemort's magical signature was. He'd had enough of these games.

"_BOMBARDA_!" he called, flicking his wand.

This was no mere spell. The force and size of the pressure wave that burst forth from his wand were enough to make every single hair on his body stand on end. The noise was truly cacophonous in the enclosed space, but Harry watched the magic stoically as it raced the length of the Atrium.

Voldemort finally made an appearance as the spell neared the Fountain because he could no longer maintain the invisibility spell. Because it was so large and wide, the Dark Lord could not simply dodge it; he had to shield against it. With a cutting motion, a wedge-shaped silver shield of magic surrounded his form as the spell roared into him.

The spell was split in two and veered off in two directions, blowing huge chunks out of, and cracking, the solid concrete walls where they impacted. Voldemort was thrown off his feet into the Fountain, but otherwise appeared unharmed.

Harry smiled grimly to himself. This was about to get very interesting.

"That's for Hermione, you prick," Harry called, walking slowly down the Atrium toward the Fountain. Voldemort stood, glaring furiously at Harry as water dripped from his form.

"You'll regret that, boy," the Dark Lord growled, jumping from the Fountain and raising his wand in one fluid motion.

The sickly green of the Killing Curse rushed toward Harry, who rolled out of the way and came up firing. He wasn't using words anymore—just pushing his magic from the tip of his wand, one supercharged bolt of energy after another. Voldemort dodged the first few bright red masses of chaotic power; when they impacted the wall behind the Fountain, they left sizzling craters.

Voldemort countered with more Killing Curses, finally forcing Harry to do more than dodge; he conjured a metal shield, blocking one that he knew he wouldn't be able to dodge; the intense vibrations as a result of the death magic hitting it hurt his arm like a bitch, however.

Suddenly, as Harry raised his wand to counter once again, the various pieces of the Fountain of Magical Brethren came to life behind Voldemort. The Dark Lord heard the animated beings scuttling toward him across the hard floor of the Atrium, and he turned toward them. Harry heard him roar in frustration at this new development.

Not wasting an opportunity, Harry cast another shockingly power spell:

"_IGNIS_!" he cried, shielding his face from the blinding heat of the sphere of white fire that erupted from his wand. He could hardly look at it because it was almost as the bright as the sun.

Voldemort's red eyes widened as he saw the new spell racing toward him, its hungry white flames licking at the air all around it. The Dark Lord abandoned all pretenses at that point and dove straight back into the water of the Fountain. The flame spell flew over the water and exploded against the far wall.

Harry briefly thought that if someone didn't put that out soon, the entire Ministry would burn. Luckily, help was just behind him, in the form of the wizard that had animated the Magical Brethren.

"Impressive power," Dumbledore muttered, coming to stand next to Harry. He waved his wand at the far wall; the flames died quickly.

With the animated statues circling the Fountain, Voldemort had stayed submerged. Harry and Dumbledore readied themselves for more fighting.

"Careful, Harry. He's extremely intelligent."

"Is he?" Harry wondered. "Maybe's he's slipping in his new body." Dumbledore looked at him, and Harry smirked.

"_Glacies_," Harry incanted, flash freezing all of the water in the Fountain. Voldemort was now trapped in all of that ice. It wouldn't hold him for long, but it might give him and Dumbledore enough time to plan something.

"What's the plan here, sir?"

The Floos around the Atrium started firing. The Minister for Magic, various department heads, Aurors and Hit Wizards, and Ministry lackeys all streamed into the Atrium.

"Stay back!" Dumbledore shouted, raising his voice above the increasing noise. Many looked at him, quite confused.

"What's the meaning of this, Albus?" blustered Fudge, shambling over in his nightwear. The Minister looked back and forth between the Headmaster and Harry. He was halfway to the pair when the ice exploded outward from the Fountain.

Red eyes gleaming in hateful rage, Voldemort raised his wand and started to rain curses down upon the gathering witches and wizards. Several fell to Killing Curses. One of those green lights was heading straight for the Minister.

"_ACCIO_ FUDGE!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at the Minister; not a moment too soon, either, because the space the Minister's flying body had just vacated was filled with that onrushing Killing Curse. It passed harmlessly off into the space behind them.

Dumbledore slowed Fudge's progress to a stop in front of them as Harry turned toward the Dark Lord.

Rage was coursing through Harry like he had never felt before. First Hermione, and now all these people; none of them had to be hurt or killed. Not a single one of them! He kept seeing Hermione falling in his mind's eye over and over, except this time it was the Killing Curse, something from which there was no possibility of recovery.

Harry snapped and acted. He raised his wand toward Voldemort. Their eyes met for a millisecond.

The incantation _reducto_ flashed through his mind; he was thrown backward off his feet as the spell materialized from his wand.

This was unlike any spell anyone had ever seen though. Its essence was larger than any single man; its pure power sizzled as it flash-fried the air around it; the pressure wave it created knocked everyone to the floor as it passed, including Dumbledore and Fudge who had been standing next to him.

The impossibly large blue bolt of pure destructive magic hurtled down the Atrium toward Voldemort, who was snarling again. Harry watched as Voldemort raised what he could only assume was an incredibly powerful magical shield to block the spell, bracing himself against the plinth of the Fountain.

A pure, gonglike note sounded through the Ministry when the overpowered Reductor curse impacted Voldemort's shield. The Dark Lord's shield was only partially effective, however; some of the blue magic punched through, taking Voldemort's left arm with it. Harry watched as his nemesis's face twisted in pain and shock as blood sprayed from the severed artery.

Shocked silence pervaded the Atrium. It happened in slow motion. Voldemort leaned to pick up his severed arm, casting a coagulation charm on his shoulder. Everyone watched as he picked a Portkey from his pocket and activated it. He was gone.

Time rushed back to full speed. Suddenly everyone was shouting and rushing toward Fudge, Dumbledore, and Harry. The latter tuned them all out and turned, looking around for his friends. He had left Neville rather abruptly before confronting Voldemort; as his eyes traveled around the Atrium, he saw them all huddled near the lifts, looking at him with big eyes full of wonder.

As most people seemed to be occupied with the argument Fudge and Dumbledore were having, Harry was eventually able to push his way through the crowd. There was a slight pang in his heart as he glimpsed some Mediwitches tending to the injured, or pulling conjured sheets over the dead.

"Harry, what happened?" Ginny breathed.

"Is Hermione alright? And what happened to the rest of you?" he asked. Ron was unconscious on the ground next to Luna; Neville still held Hermione in his arms.

"She has a pulse," Neville said. Harry felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. "Ron was attacked by those brains, so we had to stun him to get them off. I'm fine, really, but Ginny here snapped her ankle and Luna was punched pretty hard in the chest."

Now that Harry looked more closely at Luna, it _did_ look like she was groping herself. She was grimacing, however.

"I'm alright, I think," she wheezed. "Boob's probably just bruised…"

"And you, Harry? Are you alright?" Neville asked.

He nodded. "I am because all of you are alive."

"Harry…those spells…so much power," Ginny said.

Harry shrugged. "The Dark Tosser got what he deserved. It's too bad that Reductor didn't take his head off instead."

"Too right," Luna muttered, still holding firmly onto her breast.

"Shall we head back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked. "To avoid all of these people and the press, and _especially_ Fudge?"

Everyone nodded, but Neville asked the obvious question:

"But how are we getting back? We need to transport Ron and Hermione too."

"Leave that up to me," Harry said, thinking he could recreate what he did to get to the Atrium. "Put a hand on my shoulder—and, Neville, hold tight to Hermione," he instructed, crouching and placing a hand on Ron's chest. With varying degrees of skepticism, his friends did as they were told.

Harry looked inside himself, at the bright platinum core of magic that was roiling and curling and flowing, aching to be set loose again. Who was he to deny his own magic? He called upon it and thought of them all standing in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts.

Silently, they all disappeared.


	2. Aftermath

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Chapter 2: Aftermath**

The translocation was instant and silent once again, and the six friends found themselves in the middle of the Hospital Wing. Neville stumbled with Hermione in his arms at the sudden change in location, but Ginny steadied him. Harry stood and looked around.

"POMFREY!" he called; the Mediwitch rushed from her office at his loud voice and hurried over to them, worry coloring her face.

"What happened?" she asked, taking in the scene. Ginny was favoring one of her legs quite heavily, Luna was still mildly groping her bruised breast, Ron was lying on the floor, and Neville was carrying a limp Hermione.

"Voldemort," Harry said, and Pomfrey flinched. "We—or I—was lured into a trap at the Ministry by Voldemort, and they all followed me to keep me safe. You see how well that worked out."

"The _Ministry_?" she questioned, running her wand quickly over Hermione and Ron. "How did you get there—and how did you get back?"

"Thestrals," Luna supplied. "We rode Thestrals to London. Harry got us all back here."

Pomfrey gave him an odd look as she levitated Ron to a bed. "What does that mean, you got them back here?"

Harry shrugged, watching as she then levitated Hermione from Neville's arms. "Dunno really, I just thought about all of us being here and used my magic to bring us."

"But you can't Apparate into or out of Hogwarts," she protested.

"I don't think what he did was Apparation," Neville said, quietly, watching as Hermione settled onto one of the beds.

Pomfrey tutted but her duties as a Healer overrode her curiosity. "What happened to them?" she asked, motioning toward Ron and Hermione, who were on adjacent beds.

"Hermione was hit on her chest with a curse that looked like a purple flame," Harry said, moving to the side of her bed and looking down at her pale face. It was a comfort to know she was alive, but he was still quite shaken from watching her fall. "I healed the wound somehow, but I don't know what else it did to her."

"And Ron was attacked by some kind of magical brains in the Department of Mysteries," Neville continued. "We had to stun him to get them all off." Harry's eyes flicked to his mate, who bore livid red lines on his face and arms from what he assumed were the brains.

"And what about Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley?" she queried, looking at the girls with a critical eye.

"I think my ankle is broken," Ginny answered. She sat on the bed to which Pomfrey directed her.

"And I was punched pretty hard in the right boob," Luna said, still rubbing her chest. Pomfrey's eyebrow tweaked upward at Luna's brutal honesty, but directed her to the bed next to Ginny.

"I'll take a look at you two in a moment. Potter? Longbottom? What about you?"

Neville shrugged. "I broke my wand, but otherwise I think I'm fine. A little dirty, maybe," he said, attempting to wipe some of the sweat and grime from his face.

The Mediwitch looked at Harry, waiting. "I'm fine," he said. "Lucky as usual…just wish everyone else was too," he muttered.

Ginny snorted; everyone looked at her. "_You_ may be fine, but Voldemort sure isn't."

"What do you mean?" Pomfrey asked, bending over Hermione as she did more detailed scans of her. Harry watched carefully.

"Harry blew that piece of shit's arm off," Luna responded, sounding uncharacteristically serious and put-together. All eyes slipped to her for a moment.

She gave a slow shrug, wincing as it pulled on the bruised tissue in her chest. "What? It's true. He had to Portkey out of the Ministry before Harry really started to work on him."

Now everyone was looking at Harry. He quickly started to feel uncomfortable under everyone's gaze. He had no idea where all that power had come from, but he could still feel it in his magical core, of which he now seemed intimately aware.

"How is Hermione?" he asked, focusing the attention on what Pomfrey was doing.

"Fine, mostly," she said. "Magically exhausted. There are some small stress fractures in her sternum and ribs, nothing a bit of Skele-Grow can't fix. Whatever you did to heal her, Mr. Potter, it seems to have worked fairly well. We shall talk about that later."

She walked over to Ron and examined him more closely. "There is some kind of neurotoxin in his blood that is affecting his mental processes, but it does not look like the dose was too concentrated. A flushing draught and some bed rest should fix him right up."

The examinations continued. Ginny did indeed have a broken ankle, for which Pomfrey promptly gave her Skele-Grow. She was on bed rest for the next several hours. When the Mediwitch came to Luna, Harry and Neville turned away quickly because their blond friend exposed herself rather nonchalantly to the Mediwitch. Harry found himself thinking inappropriate thoughts about the pink hue of her nipple; he sidetracked that by thinking about the purple and black bruising he'd glimpsed covering the rest of her breast, which infuriated him all over again.

His friends had been trying to _help_ him, to support him, and four of them had been injured; meanwhile, he'd come out of the whole thing relatively unscathed.

"You boys can turn back now," Pomfrey said, and he could almost hear the laugh smothered in her voice. "Some anti-bruising paste should take care of the damage in a day or two," she continued, speaking to a now-covered Luna and handing her a small container of white cream.

As Pomfrey worked to give Skele-Grow to Hermione and a flushing draught to Ron, Harry and Neville took seats with Luna near the three occupied beds. Ginny was grumbling good-naturedly about having to stay in her bed.

Harry felt a twinge in the magic around them and looked up, fingering his wand. Neville and Luna noticed this, becoming equally as alert. Luna slid her wand from behind her ear; Neville looked ready to throw some punches.

But that caution was for naught; the change in the magic was an arriving Portkey, which deposited Dumbledore into the middle of the Hospital Wing, right where the six of them had returned to Hogwarts.

"There you are!" the Headmaster exclaimed, sounding less like the jovial old man they all knew and more like a worried grandfather, with undertones of the authority they all knew he had.

"Headmaster," Harry said, rather curtly. If Luna, Neville, or Ginny noticed his tone, they did not react to it.

"Albus! There _you_ are!" Pomfrey said, interrupting any further conversation. "Would you care to explain what has happened, beyond what they have all already told me? Voldemort was at the Ministry? Why did these children have to go fight him?"

"That is a long story, Poppy, one to which even I do not know all of the details." He looked at Harry. "However, if you would come with me to my office, Harry, I believe we can sort those details out?"

"No."

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore asked, clearly looking shocked at Harry's blunt refusal to do as asked. All eyes were on him again, but he did not squirm this time.

"No, Headmaster. Whatever you or I have to say can be said here. My friends were there fighting for their lives with me, so I have no secrets from them."

A tiny tightening around Dumbledore's eyes was the only indication that his demeanor had changed.

"Be that as it may, Harry, some of what I need to tell you is rather sensitive in nature. It is not information unprotected minds should know."

"And you think mine is protected?" Harry asked, coldly. "You think Snape actually tried to _teach_ me anything in those Occlumency lessons?"

"_Professor_ Snape did his utmost, I am sure."

Ginny muttered something unflattering about the Potions Master. Dumbledore looked at her sharply and Harry had to fight back a smile. Luna was not quite so successful, and her bright laughter filled the Hospital Wing.

"Look, Headmaster, I am not leaving Hermione. Or Ron. Or Neville, Luna, or Ginny. And since three of them have to be here for now, here is where I am going to stay."

They stared at each other for several long moments. Finally Dumbledore's shoulders sagged a bit and he nodded. He was about to say something else when approaching footsteps reached their ears.

"HARRY!" a familiar voice called out, as the doors to the Hospital Wing burst open. Sirius entered the room at a sprint. "There you are," he said, more quietly, coming to halt near where Harry was sitting.

"Sirius, I thought I told you to wait in my office with the rest of the Order?"

Sirius turned furious eyes on the Headmaster. Harry was slightly shocked to see such naked rage in his Godfather's eyes.

"It is well past the time when you can _tell_ me to do anything, Albus," Sirius responded, his voice tight and controlled. "Especially where Harry is concerned."

Dumbledore rubbed his temples for a moment; Harry could tell he was becoming supremely frustrated with the whole situation.

"Headmaster, why did it take you and the Order so long to get to the Ministry?" Harry asked, thinking quickly over the timeline of the past twelve hours or so. It was now mid-morning.

"We told Snape where we going before we left, and it took us several hours to fly to London on the Thestrals. Why weren't you all there when we arrived?"

Sirius, Neville, Luna, and Ginny were now staring at the Headmaster with open curiosity. Dumbledore's eyebrows had tweaked toward his hairline.

"I have no idea, Harry. _Professor_ Snape got the word to me very early this morning."

"So that son of a bitch sat on the information for _hours_?" Sirius practically screamed, pulling at his hair. "What the fuck was he thinking? They could have all been killed by the time we arrived."

"Yes, well—"

"Sirius," Harry said, overriding the Headmaster's rejoinder. "Calm down. Screaming isn't helping anyone."

Sirius nodded at Harry and paced away from the group, obviously still furious at the whole situation.

"Now, Harry, please tell me why you thought it was a good idea to go to the Ministry."

Harry felt his own hackles rise at the condescending tone of Dumbledore's words. He carefully controlled his emotions as he answered.

"Hermione managed to convince me to at least _try_ to contact Sirius before rushing into the Ministry with no plan, so we did. But Umbitch," Harry continued, slipping and using the nickname the students had given the Headmistress, "had the school completely locked down. We managed to Floo Kreacher from her office, but obviously he was lying about Sirius's whereabouts," Harry explained, glancing at his Godfather. Sirius grunted something about 'gutting that stupid elf.'

"Speaking of the esteemed Headmistress—well, former Headmistress—where is she?"

"Hermione and I led her into the Forbidden Forest; she thought we were leading her to our secret weapon. The last we saw of her a Centaur war party was carrying her away."

"I see," Dumbledore answered, glancing toward the windows of the Infirmary and the distant Forbidden Forest. "What happened when you arrived at the Ministry?"

"We made our way to the Department of Mysteries. I've been having dreams all year about the Hall of Prophecy, as it turns out, and we eventually ended up there. Neville here found a prophecy that referenced me and the Dark Lord, so I took it."

Dumbledore let out a small gasp and Sirius stopped pacing, looking at everyone again.

"The Death Eaters all revealed themselves at that point. We had words and then we started fighting. They wanted the Prophecy but I knew as soon as I gave it to them, they would kill all of us—as if they weren't trying to do that already. We fought through most of the Department of Mysteries, becoming partially separated at some point. I was with Hermione and Neville when Dolohov hit Hermione with a dark purple flame, and she went down."

Harry paused in his story, unsure how to describe what happened next. His burst of power was etched clearly in his mind, but it still amazed him.

"That's when Harry went all super-powered," Neville said, picking up the thread. "He was kneeling next to Hermione when suddenly there was this enormous burst of power. It knocked me over and I think it killed Dolohov—good riddance, really. It continued for quite some time, and during that was when Harry healed Hermione.

"After the waves of magic settled down, Harry handed Hermione to me and went to face Voldemort. He Apparated or something up to the Atrium. I met up with Luna and Ginny—who had just stunned Ron and were working on freeing him from the brains—and we made our way to the lifts and up to the Atrium. We arrived there just as Harry froze the Fountain with Voldemort inside."

Dumbledore and Sirius had been listening intently. Dumbledore finally spoke: "And the Prophecy—what happened to it?"

Neville blushed and fidgeted in his seat for a moment. Harry laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Nev. It's not important."

"It was crushed when I was blown backward by the power escaping Harry," Neville said, nodding at Harry.

"On the contrary, Harry—it is incredibly important. But luckily we do not need the actual prophecy to know its contents."

Harry's eyes snapped the Headmaster. Dumbledore had just given up the game. He had known about the prophecy all along and had never bothered to tell Harry! Well, two could play at this shite!

"If it was so bloody important, why am I learning of it now?" Harry wondered.

"You were too young, Harry, to be saddled with such responsibility—"

"Bullshit!" Harry exclaimed, shooting from his chair and advancing on the Headmaster. His tightly leashed anger was getting the best of him. "I asked you at the end of my first year why Voldemort was so interested in me—_point blank_—and you refused to answer, citing the same reason. Don't you think I deserved to know why my life was a living hell for so long, and why it has been endangered along with the lives of my friends every year here at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, his voice rising steadily. He was standing directly in front of the Headmaster; he could feel his magic yearning to be free once again, but he did his best to control it.

"Harry…" Dumbledore tried to placate him.

"Don't _Harry_ me, Headmaster. We're way past that. If the prophecy was so important, _I should have known about it!_ So much could have been prevented—Cedric's death, Pettigrew's escape, even Voldemort's resurrection for Merlin's sake!"

"But you do not even know what it says," Dumbledore said. Harry noticed Sirius's murderous glance at the Headmaster. Did Sirius know the prophecy?

"Do I have to?" Harry wondered. "I think it's fairly obvious at this point what it says—me or him, right? Only I can kill Voldemort?" Dumbledore's look of shock told Harry he'd hit the nail on the head.

"Why is it so surprising I figured that out?" Harry nearly shouted, his frustration at the entire situation ratcheting to new levels. His entire life had been manipulated by someone who was supposed to be on his side, and all for what? To preserve a childhood he never had? To make him a pliable pawn?

"Anything with half a brain could have done it!" Harry shouted, temper finally snapping. Every single window in the Hospital Wing exploded outward, causing everyone to duck, albeit unnecessarily.

"Harry, please calm down," Dumbledore said.

"I will not calm down!" Harry shouted, his magic roiling off of him now. It was buffeting everyone in the room, making them brace themselves against it. Somewhere in his mind he realized he was being hypocritical, having just told Sirius that shouting wasn't helping.

"Where were you this year? Where were you every other year when something atrocious happened? You're the Headmaster of this school—you're supposed to protect us and make sure nothing too evil happens around here. Yet every year it's up to me and my friends to save the day, to travel through time or kill a Basilisk or get entered in stupid Tournaments where your life is in danger the whole time.

"For such a powerful, smart old man, I think you're becoming awfully blind, Headmaster. You're the fucking Supreme Mugwump, for Merlin's sake! You have more power than Fudge or the Ministry could ever have! And let's not forget you're also the Chief Judicial and Legislative Officer of the government. How could you let the Ministry take over the school like it did? _How could you let Umbridge torture your students all year long?_

"We both know how powerful you are. Why didn't you just stun everyone when they tried to arrest you, and sort it all out later? You're practically a god to the magical people of Britain, yet you let a little bad press push you out of this school? Maybe they were right to lose faith in you," Harry said, breathing heavily now. There was plenty more he could say, but he let his cutting words hang in the air as he turned his back on the Headmaster and stalked to his chair.

He was tired of the games. He was tired of the Headmaster holding everything close to his chest and assuming everyone else was too stupid or not powerful enough to handle it. Harry and his friends had just proven they were more than powerful enough, and if Dumbledore didn't trust them now, why would he ever expect Harry to fight the psycho Dark Lord for a school and a country that hated and feared him most of the time?

He was tired of being treated like a child when his childhood had been literally beaten from him at the age of four by Vernon Dursley. The world had decided to place a monumental responsibility upon his shoulders yet persisted in telling him he was not prepared.

Harry shook himself from his pity party. He focused on Hermione, whom he now wanted to recover more than anything. She would help him sort out his chaotic thoughts and calm him down; she always did.

"I am sorry, Harry," came the quiet, almost mournful voice of the Headmaster. Harry did not turn or otherwise acknowledge him. "I seem to have failed you and this school more deeply than I realized."

There was a pause then, as complete silence enveloped the Infirmary for a few seconds.

"I shall think on this more and perhaps we can talk later," Dumbledore eventually said. Harry heard the swishing of his robes as he turned and his footsteps as he walked out of the Hospital Wing. He was staring at Hermione's peaceful face, where there was a little more color now, willing her to wake up so he could hold her and tell her he was so glad she was alive and that he would do anything to keep her safe.

He knew Neville, Luna, Ginny, Pomfrey, and Sirius were watching him, but he did not care. Sirius eventually pulled a chair over and sat beside Harry, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing every now and then. Pomfrey migrated to her office, leaving the five of them to hold silent vigil over Hermione and Ron.

Harry reached for Hermione's hand, which was warm, and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

"Come back to us soon," he breathed. A breeze wafted through the Hospital Wing as a result of all the shattered windows, pushing some of Hermione's chestnut hair onto her face. Harry carefully brushed the strands away from her forehead.

He froze. Hermione's hand had moved in his.

Her eyelids fluttered open and he was captivated by the most beautiful chocolate gaze he'd ever seen.

"Harry?"


	3. Pact

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Thanks for the reviews so far.

**Chapter 3: Pact**

"Yes, Hermione. You're safe. We're all safe. This is Hogwarts," Harry told her, leaning over and looking her in the eyes. He held her hand in both of his.

She tried to sit up; he gently held her down. She struggled for a moment, looking warily into his eyes, but gave up when she saw the determination on his face. He helped her fluff some pillows so she could lean up a little at least. She grimaced and rubbed the middle of her chest. Her ribs hurt terribly.

"What happened? Is everyone alright?" she wondered, looking around and seeing Neville, Luna, and Sirius sitting around her bed. Ginny was on the bed on her left side looking at her and Ron was on the bed on her right side. He was unconscious.

"As well as we can be," Harry said, sighing and sitting on the edge of her bed. He leaned into her and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She froze for a moment, unused to this kind of physical comfort from Harry. She was always the one to initiate contact between them, so this was definitely something new. She cautiously tilted her head to the side so she could see his face. He was looking at her with an inscrutable emotion burning in his eyes.

She leaned into his touch, sighing involuntarily. Something was different about Harry; he was still the same boy she had loved since First Year, but there some kind of new steel in him, some new world weariness coupled with a newfound depth of power she could feel radiating from him. He was still the same loving, stubborn, uncommonly kind Harry Potter, but he seemed to have found something in himself while she was out.

"Think you got the worst of it, Hermione," Neville said, softly. Luna was nodding along with him. Hermione's eyes lingered on Luna for an instant; she wondered why the blond was groping herself.

"Dolohov hit you with a nasty curse," Harry explained. "It looked like purple flame. It hit you right there," Harry said, pointing to the middle of her chest.

No wonder her ribs and her sternum hurt so much.

"It would have been a lot worse if Harry hadn't healed you right away," Neville said. "You were bleeding something fierce." Now that she looked at her clothes, she _could_ see the traces of her own blood. She locked eyes with Harry.

"Thank you, Harry," she told him, quite sincerely. Her voice was raspy with emotion. Her best friend and the young man on whom she'd been crushing for ages had possibly saved her life—_again_. She owed so much to Harry.

Suddenly he was crying and pulled her into a gentle embrace. He buried his face into her shoulder. Soul-shaking sobs were soon escaping his quivering frame. She looked at everyone else with huge eyes; Harry had never been so open with his emotions before. They all looked back at her rather calmly, under the circumstances.

Sirius did look a bit pained, watching and listening to Harry lose it on her shoulder, but he did not interfere.

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry spoke, though it was muffled in her body. "I thought you were d-dead," he said. "When I saw you fall, I didn't know what to do. What would I do if I lost you? If I lost any of you? It was so foolish, going there in the first place. I should have listened to you; I should have waited until we could have contacted someone for sure."

"Harry, shh," she said, rubbing his back and finding herself in the strange position of being the convalescent yet comforting a perfectly healthy Harry. "We did everything we could at the time to verify if Sirius was actually there or not. If we're going to blame anyone for this, we should blame Voldemort."

Harry shook his head into her shoulder. His crying seemed to have subsided, but still he held onto her.

"Voldemort didn't do this to you, Hermione. Dolohov did. That bastard cursed you and I thought you were dead, and I don't know what I would have done without you. You mean so much to me. I don't think I could go on if you weren't there."

It all came out in a rush. Hermione had to wonder if Harry even knew what he was saying at the moment; because if he did, she could hold some hope in her heart that maybe, _just maybe_, he held the same feelings for her that she harbored for him.

"It _was_ Dolohov's fault. You're right about that," Neville said, that same steel in his voice Hermione had already noticed in Harry. "But he won't be hurting anyone else, Harry. You killed him for what he did to Hermione. He's gone forever. Just like Voldemort will be when we finally get our hands on him."

Hermione processed what Neville had just revealed: Harry had killed for her? She didn't know how she felt about that, except for the fact that she wished he didn't have to carry that kind of guilt for her.

He finally raised his face from her shoulder, not bothering to wipe the tear tracks away. They had all just seen him at his most vulnerable, so what was the point now?

"What does it make me if I don't feel bad at all about it?" Harry asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"Harry…" Sirius started, but Luna cut him off.

"It makes you righteous, Harry," she said. "How many people has Dolohov murdered? Tortured? Raped? You killed him and now he can't do that to anyone else. And when we do that to the other Death Eaters—when _you_ do that to _Voldemort_—none of us should feel bad about it."

"She's right, Harry," Ginny added. "They were all trying to kill us as soon as we were out of the Hall of Prophecy. How many times did we stun them only to fight the same person again? They were just reviving each other. Yet they were using deadly curses on us. If we want them to stay down, we have to put them down, permanently."

"Listen to your friends, Harry," Sirius said, nodding. "They're far wiser than I was at your age. And what they say is absolutely true. This is a war and to win a war, you have to kill. It's unfortunate, but the other side will be trying to do the same thing."

Harry nodded and looked back into Hermione's eyes. She wanted to kiss him more than anything in that moment.

"Pomfrey has some Skele-Grow in you right now," he said. "You had some slight rib fractures. It's probably going to hurt a bit."

"It already does," she said, smiling a little. "But it's not really _too_ bad. What happened to the rest of you?"

"Broke my ankle," Ginny said.

"I'm fine, but my wand's shattered," Neville told her.

"I'm fine too," Harry added.

"Some stupid Death Eater lost his wand and decided to punch me in the tit," Luna said. So that explained why she was groping herself. Hermione's eyes cut to Sirius, whose face was red from trying not to laugh at Luna's explanation.

"Yes…" Neville agreed, some amusement in his voice. "And Ron was attacked by those brains. Pomfrey said a flushing draught would take care of the toxin in his system and he should be fine."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "So we all made it out of there? What about the Death Eaters?"

"I can answer that," Sirius interjected. "But you should know that Voldemort was there as well."

Hermione gasped, looking to Harry for confirmation. He nodded.

"What happened?" she demanded. "Did Dumbledore drive him away?"

"Actually, Harry did," Ginny said. Neville and Luna agreed with her assessment. Hermione wanted to know everything, so Neville retold the tale they'd already told Dumbledore. She listened raptly as Neville described Harry's incredible surge of power when he witnessed her struck down by the curse.

She brought a hand to her mouth when Neville did a play-by-play of the part of the duel he had witnessed. It had all ended with Harry's super Reductor blowing off Voldemort's arm; the Dark Lord had then Portkeyed away, defeated by Harry once again.

Her eyes sought Harry's emerald gaze again, and she saw the truth there. He had faced Voldemort _again_ and had managed to drive him away _again_. Not even Dumbledore could claim fighting to a stalemate so many times against Riddle. Harry was such a powerful wizard, but he used his immense magical reserves for good, rather than evil. His true power was unlocked when he was protecting his friends, or in reaction to watching them fall. He was the most selfless human being on the planet, and so much utter shit had been thrown his way his whole life that, by all rights, he should be exactly like Voldemort; that he wasn't was a testament to his immutable willpower and the size of his heart and indomitable spirit.

"I'm sorry you had to fight him again," she said. He placed his right index finger against her lips, shaking his head. She resisted the temptation to lick her lips.

"No, Hermione, you have _nothing_ to be sorry for. I would fight Voldemort a thousand times if it meant keeping you safe. I would fight him to the ends of the earth and beyond if I could protect my friends and those I love," he told her, nearing a whisper at the end. He sounded unbelievably tender.

"He's an evil psychopath, and a very powerful one, but he rules through fear. The Death Eaters are only loyal to him because they fear reprisal. Imagine how much more potent and organized they could be if they didn't have to fear their leader? We don't have that disadvantage. We all care for each other and would do anything to protect each other, too."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Harry," Neville told them. Hermione watched as Neville and Ginny locked eyes for several seconds.

"I'm going to be there, Harry, when you finally end it with him—that's what the prophecy says, isn't it? That it's either you or him?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded. "Then I'm going to be there helping you when we bring him down for good."

Harry started to protest, but Neville overrode him.

"As am I," the Longbottom scion said.

"Count me in," Luna added.

"You know I'll be there," Ginny said, fiercely. "And I speak for my brother as well. He wouldn't miss that for anything."

"We'll all be there, Harry," Sirius said, leaning forward and placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Everyone who loves you and cares for you and wants to fight for what's right in this world will be there too. Voldemort doesn't stand a chance."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, eventually nodding his assent. Hermione had thought he would close himself off and refuse to allow them to be there with him, because they'd be in danger and he'd blame himself, but something seemed to have changed since the Ministry. He wasn't refusing their help and he wasn't backing away from them, to protect them.

Merlin, she loved Harry James Potter so much.

Hermione leaned forward and drew him into a soft embrace, mindful of her knitting bones. He returned the hug, and they just held onto each other for a few moments. She didn't think she'd ever get enough of him in her arms.

"As far as the other Death Eaters are concerned," Sirius broke in, after about two minutes of silence. Harry and Hermione continued to hold each other, just listening to the words. "Well, Dolohov was killed, but the rest were captured. They're all probably in Ministry holding cells or on their way to Azkaban as we speak."

"How were they captured?" Neville asked.

"That is the question of the day," Sirius said. "When we came upon them, they were all Stunned and bound. Was that your doing?"

"No," Neville answered. Ginny and Luna echoed his response.

"Then we can only assume that Harry's humongous burst of power was the cause," Sirius said. Hermione felt Harry tense slightly in her arms. She started rubbing slow circles on his back with her hands. "He must have unconsciously felt their magic and incapacitated them when his own magic came in contact with them."

Hermione realized in that moment Harry was mind-bogglingly powerful. Her mind flashed over their years of friendship, focusing on several events where Harry's true power had come to the surface. It was undeniable. With a little more training for Harry, surely Voldemort didn't stand a chance.

The wizard she loved was practically a deity. That knowledge subconsciously caused a deep ache in her belly with which she was only recently familiar.

Harry finally spoke; his mouth was close to her ear, and she could hear every nuance and variation in his soft voice as he talked.

"How long until they're released, though? With Fudge in Malfoy's pocket, how long before they're back out there terrorizing and killing Muggles and Muggleborns? What did we actually accomplish today, other than pissing them all off, including Voldemort?"

Hermione grabbed his arms and pushed him away from her so she could stare into his eyes. His questions and his fatalistic tone frustrated her. Had they not all just pledged to stand with him in the coming fight?

"What did we accomplish? We, six teenagers, fought Voldemort's twelve most feared Death Eaters to a stand-still. Some of us fared better than others, obviously, but we all came out of it alive. And we're only fourth and fifth years. We prevented them from bringing the prophecy to Voldemort—"

"As if that even mattered," Harry said.

"Regardless," Hermione pushed on, "we did not let them accomplish their mission. And you said it yourself: Voldemort rules through fear. How do you think he's going to take it when he learns his best Death Eaters couldn't take out six kids? How do you think he's _taking_ the knowledge that you blew his _arm_ off, for Merlin's sake? That's got to be somewhat humbling, and infuriating, true, but also humbling. He now knows fighting you isn't a walk in the park, and that each one of us is powerful enough in our own right.

"Voldemort's whole ideological structure took a huge hit today, and it's going to take a long time, _at least_ a few weeks, for them to recover from this. They were defeated by a mudblood, four blood traitors, and a halfblood. It shows just how asinine those words really are, especially considering he's a halfblood himself. If only all of his followers knew that. How fast do you think a good number of them would decamp if the truth got out?"

Hermione's speech had planted the seed of an idea in her mind, one which would require her to call on their least favorite beetle. In the end, though, if it worked, it would most definitely be worth the annoyance.

She took Harry's faced in her hands quite gently, almost lovingly. Her eyes and her tone softened as she continued. The world around them melted away.

"You have to realize your own worth, Harry," she told him. "I know you haven't had an easy life, and not too many people have ever shown you genuine affection, but you have to know that I care deeply for you. Ron, Neville, Luna, and Ginny do, too. And so do Sirius and Remus. And a lot of the Order, in their own ways. Even Dumbledore cares for you Harry, regardless of the problems we have with him.

"We care for you and we believe in you, just as you care for us and believe in us and would do anything to protect us. It's this reflexive relationship that makes us so strong, much stronger than Voldemort or the Death Eaters could ever hope to be. Because we have each other, I know we can win this fight."

She leaned forward, bringing his face toward hers. "Because _I_ have you, I know I can stand strong and ready, and unafraid," she whispered, and now their faces were only inches apart. Harry was absorbing her words as if they were life itself.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Because I…because I love you, I will see you through this. We'll all see each other through this."

Harry's green eyes widened, only four inches from hers.

"You—you _love_ me?" he whispered. There was an unbearably innocent hope in his eyes that took Hermione's breath away. She nodded.

"Hermione," he breathed, cutting the distance between them to two inches. "I love you too, and I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I'll always be there, Harry," she said, drawing his face across those last two inches and crashing her lips against his. They were warm and firm and she nearly moaned into him as the fact that she was kissing Harry Potter settled into her brain. She had dreamed about this for so long, and while this might not have been the most romantic moment, she thought it was perfect nonetheless.

His scent was musky and heady and she _did_ moan when she felt him run his tongue ever-so-lightly along her lower lip; that deep ache in her belly from before was back with a vengeance, and she shifted slightly in the bed to relieve some of the tension.

She parted her lips and allowed him entrance to her mouth; she plucked his glasses from his face and set them on the bed next to them as he easily caressed her tongue with his. His answering moan made her want to tackle him, but she didn't want to upset her mending bones. Curse Dolohov! At least Harry had ended his miserable excuse for an existence.

She pushed back against his tongue with her own, and now they were in his mouth, and the kiss was changing slightly, pulling back a little, so that it wasn't so deep and intense, but rather languid and easy and _sexy_. Merlin, when did Harry get so sexy? He was doing things to her with this simple kiss she had never imagined; she could feel her body reacting in places she hadn't known existed. Why hadn't they kissed ages ago?

Slowly, and inevitably, their first kiss ended. A haze of love and lust and devotion and arousal clouded her mind and her vision as he pulled his lips away. Her tongue trailed out of her mouth, still seeking his as he leaned back a few inches. His low, silky chuckle renewed her desire to tackle him and see what else she could do to him with her mouth.

Where had _that_ thought come from?

"That was amazing, Harry," she said, laughing internally at the awe in her own voice.

"You're amazing, Hermione," he said.

Her peripheral awareness was coming back to her. Sirius had left the Hospital Wing at some point during their kiss and Ginny, Luna, and Neville were all facing away from her and Harry, discussing something while sitting on Ginny's bed.

"Your tongue is amazing," she replied, without thinking, and blushed immediately. She could feel the heat of it warming her face.

"You are absolutely gorgeous, Hermione," Harry told her, trailing a hand down her right cheek. "Don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Thank you, by the way, for your little speech. I know I can be moody and broody and stubborn, but you've always been the only one who could snap me out of it. I would understand if you said no, but would grant me the supreme honor of being my girlfriend? I've fancied you for longer than I care to admit and after what happened at the Ministry I never want to be apart from you."

She nodded into his hand and before she could even think to hold them back a few fat tears were leaking from her eyes.

"Hermione?" he asked, lowly, somewhat alarmed.

"Oh, it's nothing, Harry," she said. "These are happy tears. I've fancied you for so long, too, you know. You've been the best friend anyone could ask for and I didn't want to risk mucking that up if you didn't feel the same way about me. Of course I'll be your girlfriend, Harry. I really do love you more than I know how to say."

He worked on wiping her tears away, one by one, and soon enough they had abated.

"You've just made me the happiest person in the world, Hermione Granger," he replied. "I can't describe what I feel for you, either, but if this is love, I'm glad I waited for you to feel it, because now I can cherish each moment with you as an entirely new experience."

She didn't even know what to say anymore. That was perhaps the most romantic she'd ever heard or read, and it had come out of Harry Potter's mouth, her new boyfriend. Who knew he'd had even the slightest romantic bone in his body?

"The feeling is mutual," she told him. They embraced again and held each other for quite some time.

Several minutes later, Ginny glanced over her shoulder at them.

"Oh good, they're done trying to eat each other's face," she said, loudly, and smirking when Harry and Hermione backed out of their hug, blushing furiously.

"And it was just getting good, too," Luna lamented. She was _still_ groping herself. "I thought I was finally going to get some independent verification about what all you girls on the Quidditch team have been saying about Harry's snake for years."

Neville and Ginny's laughter exploded from their bodies, filling the Hospital Wing with much needed merriment.


	4. Part 1: Something Wicked This Way Comes

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Part One: Something Wicked This Way Comes**

**Chapter Four: Power**

Ron woke sometime later that afternoon. Everyone else who had been injured was largely healed by that time. Madam Pomfrey was incredibly annoyed Harry couldn't explain what he'd done to heal Hermione, especially since it left a few tiny fractures in her bones, but eventually left them all to their own devices.

"Bloody hell, my effing head…" Ron moaned, capturing the attention of everyone. Harry and Hermione, still sitting on her bed, turned toward the redhead. Neville, Ginny, and Luna walked over to stand beside Ron's bed.

"Hello there, dear brother. I see you've finally decided to rejoin us," Ginny said, as Ron blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. He slowly sat up, holding the sides of his head with both palms.

"It's too bright in here," he complained. "And you're all breathing too loudly."

"Quit your whining," Ginny said.

Ron peered up at her. His eyes slid to Neville and Luna, standing next to her, and finally over to Harry and Hermione, who were sitting nearly on top of each other on her bed. His gaze lingered on them for several seconds.

"I don't know why I thought '_accio _brains' would have helped at all," he mumbled, turning his head back to his bed.

"It's alright, mate, we all made it out of there," Neville said, clapping him on the shoulder. Ron winced at the jarring movement.

"Speaking of that," Ron said, looking up again, "what happened. How did we get out of there?"

And so the story was told over again, this time entirely by Neville. Predictably, Ron turned widened eyes on Harry when Neville came to the sudden explosion of power; and again, later, when the story concluded with a one-armed Voldemort Portkeying from the Ministry.

"Blimey," Ron stated, addressing Harry. The two friends locked eyes. "Where has that been hiding for the last five years?"

Harry's only response was a small smile and a half shrug.

"You should have seen his Patronus back in third year," Hermione said, looking at her new boyfriend. Harry and Hermione locked eyes for a moment. "When you've heard over one hundred Dementors keening in pain, then you might have known Harry was capable of such a thing."

Ron's jaw clenched; everyone else noticed this. Now they were just waiting for the impending explosion of Ron's jealousy—over Harry's power, Harry's fame, and the obvious affection Harry and Hermione were showing each other.

"So it's you and Hermione now?"

Harry's left eyebrow rose toward his fringe. He looked at Hermione, who nodded.

"Yes, Ron, it is. But it will always be the three of us, too. _And_ the six of us."

Everyone was watching this exchange with bated breath. The muscles in Ron's face clenched tighter and he looked away for a moment, staring off into space. The world was startlingly quiet for a few seconds.

"Then I guess it's about time you pulled your head out of your arse," Ron finally replied, looking at Hermione and Harry again.

"Say what?" Harry asked.

Ron actually grinned. "You heard me. How long have you been pining for her, Harry?"

Harry was too stunned to speak. "About as long as I have for him," Hermione supplied, smiling carefully at Ron.

Ron inclined his head. "Fair enough. You two _do_ know my twin brothers have a pool on when you'd get together, right?"

Hermione looked mildly offended, but Harry just shook his head, smiling. "Leave it to Fred and George to take the mickey out of everything."

"You surprise me, brother," Ginny said, after a moment.

Ron glanced at her. "And why is that? Because I didn't have a tantrum about Harry and Hermione _finally_ getting together?"

Everyone found themselves nodding in agreement with his rhetorical question, even those he'd just named. He sighed and rolled his eyes at his five friends.

"Look, I know I've been prat when it comes to that, and truthfully I did fancy Hermione a bit for a little while, but after the Yule Ball last year and spending last summer with her at Grimmauld, I realized it would just never work between us. We're too different; we argue and bicker all the time. I finally saw that my relationship with you, Hermione, is like mine with my sister—and let me tell you, the squickiness involved in fancying someone you think of like your sister is downright unpleasant. Those feelings went away quickly."

"I think you've graduated to a tablespoon, Ron," Hermione said, gratitude once again filling her voice.

"Seriously, mate. That was some deep stuff," Harry agreed.

Ron waved it away. His headache looked to be subsiding a little; he was sitting a little straighter and wasn't so carefully moving his head anymore.

"However, I _would_ prefer to never see you two snogging," he said, half-jokingly.

Harry smirked. "I can't promise anything, Ron. Hermione is too sexy for her own good." The witch in question had the good grace to blush. "But I will try to keep myself under control," Harry added, speaking more to Hermione than Ron.

"Right," Ron said, slowly, "now that _that_ is settled…" He looked directly at Luna. "Will someone please tell me why Luna has been feeling herself up this whole time?"

* * *

><p>Later that evening, just as Madam Pomfrey was giving everyone a clean bill of health and permission to leave the Infirmary, Sirius strode into the Wing with a purpose.<p>

"Sirius," Harry acknowledged his godfather with a smile. Sirius smiled back, but all of them could tell it was strained.

"Are they all set, Poppy?" he asked, looking at the Mediwitch. She nodded, tutted a few more times about mere children having to fight Death Eaters, and bustled off to her office.

"What's wrong, Sirius?" Hermione asked.

He quietly observed the six of them for a moment, before obviously deciding something in his head and nodding once to himself.

"Right, you lot, I need you to come with me," he said.

"Where are we going?" Ginny wondered, even as they all stood and moved toward Sirius to do as he said.

"Room of Requirement," he informed them. "An Order meeting starts in about five minutes, and Dumbledore decided to hold this one at Hogwarts."

"We're going to sit in on a meeting?" Ron asked, sounding marginally excited. Sirius glanced at him before nodding. They were now strolling through the castle; Hermione and Harry hand-in-hand, Ginny and Neville quite close to each other, and Ron and Luna trailing behind everyone else.

"Yes, and it took some convincing of the Headmaster to allow it," Sirius stated, sounding highly annoyed.

"Not that I don't appreciate it, but why now, all of the sudden?" Harry queried.

"Foremost because of what the prophecy says and that you all know it. Secondly, because you all fought and more or less defeated twelve of Voldemort's inner circle today; and thirdly, because you, Harry, sent Voldemort packing like no one else ever has. If those reasons haven't earned you all admission to the Order, then it might as well not exist."

Hermione nodded, squeezing Harry's hand. "And you told Dumbledore all of that?"

A bitter smile spread across Sirius's face. "Something like that."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I think Dumbledore took what you said earlier to heart, Harry," Sirius told him. "It wasn't easy to convince him of this, but when I reminded him of the things you'd so eloquently pointed out in the Infirmary, he folded rather quickly."

"About time," Ron muttered.

Sirius stopped walking and looked at Ron sharply. Everyone's progress suddenly halted.

"Do not mistake my advocacy as license to _enjoy_ this or think any of this is _fun_," Sirius said, a little heatedly. Perhaps he realized, because he closed his eyes briefly; and when he spoke again, his tone was softer.

"Having come through what you all just experienced, you should know what I mean. Voldemort and the Death Eaters are very real threats, to everything and _everyone _we hold dear. The Ministry's general incompetence—not to mention its deep-seated corruption—is hamstringing our country's resistance to the pureblood propaganda.

"Voldemort is exploiting this, probably as we speak, and the Order of the Phoenix is the only organization planning to make a real stand against him. Dumbledore may have many faults, but he is still one of the most powerful beings on Earth, and he does in fact fight very hard for our side. I implore all of you to take this meeting very seriously. First impressions mean a lot, you know."

The six met each other's eyes, including each individually with Harry. There was a silent agreement among them and they nodded toward Sirius.

"We understand," Harry said, speaking for all of them.

"Good. Let's keep moving," Sirius replied. The rest of their journey to the Room of Requirement was silent. When they arrived, there was already a door where the normally blank wall would have greeted them. Sirius opened this door and ushered them in ahead of him.

Harry was momentarily startled to find himself in a good approximation of a modern executive boardroom, with a very long rectangular table and many plush chairs. He hadn't known the Room could approach late twentieth century standards.

His gaze swept over the room. Most of the aforementioned chairs were already filled; this appeared to be an all-hands-on-deck meeting. Those he recognized were: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Fred and George; Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour; Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid; Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hestia Jones; Dedalus Diggle and Mundungus Fletcher; Lupin and Tonks; and Alastor Moody. There were several others he didn't think he'd ever seen before.

"Ah, good, you have arrived," Dumbledore called, from the head of the table. He waved them to the seats. They all sat on one side of the table, with Sirius at one end and Luna at the other. The look Mrs. Weasley sent her just-arrived progeny promised a talking-to later, but for now she was remarkably silent. Hermione kept hold of Harry's hand, placing it in her lap and rubbing her thumbs over his knuckles. He met her eyes and they gave reassuring smiles to each other. It felt so good to know she was there and she felt the same way about him that he'd felt about her all these years. With her help and her love, he knew he could defeat Voldemort.

Lest his thoughts consume him, however, he turned his attention to the meeting.

"Now that we are all here, we can begin," Dumbledore said, meeting the eye of every single person at the table. "Many of you know some of the details of what happened already, but few of you know all of them. So I think we will begin with the story." The Headmaster looked down toward the six new members. "Would one of you please tell us what happened this morning before you arrived and during your stay at the Ministry?"

Before anyone could respond to Dumbledore's request, Dedalus Diggle cleared his throat. All eyes went to him.

"I still think these children are far too young to be involved in this, Albus," the short, older man said in a thin, reedy voice. He was now squirming under the attention his words gave him.

Dumbledore sighed. "You have already made your opinion known, Dedalus," he said.

"I agree with Dedalus, for the record," Mrs. Weasley said, with surprising bitterness. Mr. Weasley glared at her and shook his head.

"The issue at hand is _not_ whether Harry and his friends are old enough to participate," Dumbledore stated, quite firmly. "That is for another time, or not at all," he continued. "Now, if you please, one of you tell us what happened."

So Harry picked up the thread, beginning with the vision in his History of Magic OWL the previous day. The story carried through to Harry bringing them all back to Hogwarts with the others filling in details where necessary, though Harry's quiet tones were the primary source of sound in the Room for some time.

Silence fell over the assembled Order members when Harry finished as they all assimilated what they'd heard. Fred and George eventually started whispering furiously to each other, pointedly ignoring their mother's glares. Harry found that many in the room were looking at him with a new respect, something he didn't really want, but his anxiety eased when he noticed his five friends were getting the same looks.

"I am sure we all have questions," Dumbledore finally said, "but please keep them to the most relevant ones." He looked around expectantly.

Tonks sat a little straighter. "How did you get back to Hogwarts? No one can Apparate in or out of the grounds."

"Not exactly where I would have started," Hermione muttered, and Harry stifled a chuckle at her apropos comment. He turned his attention toward Tonks.

"For that matter, how did I get to the Atrium?" he wondered. "I can't Apparate because I haven't learned how yet. So whatever I did wasn't Apparation."

"You don't even know what you did?" Tonks asked, bewildered.

Harry shrugged. "I can…_feel_ my magic better than I could before the Ministry. I wanted to bring us all back to Hogwarts so I called upon my magic and made it do what I wanted. Simple as that."

"And impossible," someone scoffed. Harry didn't recognize him.

"Clearly not," Ginny retorted, dryly. "Can we move on? This is really the least of our problems." Many of the people around the table nodded in agreement with the young redheaded witch, including Mrs. Weasley, who was eyeing her daughter with some curiosity.

"I agree," Dumbledore said. "I think the most pertinent question is how Harry managed to subconsciously incapacitate every Death Eater _and_ force Voldemort to submit with a simple, yet unbelievably powerful, Reductor curse?"

"I'll say what Hermione said to me earlier today: this isn't without precedent, you know," Ron broke in, sounding quite confident. Harry held back a smile at his friends asserting themselves so brilliantly in this meeting. He wasn't completely comfortable being the center of attention, but with Hermione still holding his hand and his friends supporting him, he was less bothered by it than he might have been.

Ron was met with mostly blank looks.

"Oh, come on," he rolled his eyes. "Now that Hermione pointed it out, it's really fairly obvious, isn't it? The Patronus at the end of third year, pulling the Sword of Gryffindor and killing the Basilisk in second year, fighting Voldemort to a draw at the end of last year…" he trailed off, as looks of comprehension started to go around the table.

"It just took something drastic to fully unlock it," Neville said, meeting Harry's eyes over Hermione's head. They both glanced at her.

"Which was?" Hestia Jones asked.

It was Neville's turn to roll his eyes. "You heard the story. When Hermione was hit by Dolohov's curse, Harry decided to go all Divinity on everyone in the Ministry." Some nervous chuckles made the rounds as everyone considered the true extent of Harry's power. The wizard in question sat there stoically, basking in the comfort Hermione was consciously and unconsciously providing.

"I believe the term you are looking for is _sorcerer_," Dumbledore spoke, silencing the chatter.

Harry looked at Dumbledore. "Pardon, Headmaster?"

"The correct term for an extremely powerful wizard is sorcerer," Dumbledore explained. "And sorceress is the witch's counterpart."

Harry felt Hermione pause in her gentle rubbing of his hand as everyone at the table absorbed this information. Several looked like they had already known the terms.

"Are those subjective terms, Headmaster?" Hermione asked. "Or do they have some basis in objective fact?" Harry thought he understood what her question meant, even if it was readily apparent her reasoning was beyond several members of the Order. They turned their blank looks to Dumbledore.

"Good question, no less than I expect from you, Hermione," Dumbledore said, now smiling. "They are in fact objective terms, reserved for those who are above a certain power threshold on the Emrys Index."

"I didn't think the Index was used anymore," Hermione said. Harry had no idea what they were talking, but he trusted Hermione enough to realize she would answer any of his questions later.

"There is rarely a reason for its use in these times, you are correct, since we do not use it at magical schools anymore, but it is still around."

"Excuse me," Ron cut in, sounding annoyed, "but what the hell is the Emrys Index and why don't we use it at school _anymore_?" he asked, emphasizing the last word.

"The Emrys Index, Ronald," Hermione explained, "is the standard by which all wizards' and witches' magical potentials are measured. It's a scale of 0 to 1000, 0 meaning you're a non-magical person and 1000 meaning you're Merlin. Its use was practically outlawed for magical schools because of the unhealthy competition it fostered."

Dumbledore was nodding; a fair few more than Ron looked educated by what Hermione had said, including Harry. He squeezed her hands and smiled at her, which turned into a grin when she blushed slightly. The faint pink on her cheeks made her even prettier.

"Thank you, Hermione. Squibs typically fall in the 1-15 range; the average magical person is approximately 300; and the threshold for a sorcerer or a sorceress is 650. Hermione correctly pointed out that Merlin's score was 1000, and no one has ever scored higher than him, which is why the entire scale is based and formulated on that standard."

"What's your score, Headmaster?" Fred, or George, asked, sounding quite eager to know the answer.

Dumbledore smiled at them benignly. "I haven't tested myself in several years, but last I knew it was 930." Everyone looked appropriately awed. Harry, however, wasn't falling for it.

"And Voldemort's?"

"For obvious reasons he has never submitted to the test, but it is safe to assume he is around 900 as well," Dumbledore answered, looking quite grave.

"But what does all of that even mean?" Luna asked, speaking for the first time. Mercifully, she was no longer massaging her breast. "Raw magical potential? Is that the power we put into every spell, or the power we _could_ put into a spell?"

The look of surprise that flit over the faces of those who knew Luna meant they hadn't expected the serious, focused question from the airy blond. Just another thing the fiasco at the Ministry seemed to have changed.

"Ravenclaw to our rescue!" Dumbledore exclaimed, with a fair bit of mirth and no sarcasm in his voice. "It is, my dear Luna, your power if you were to cast a spell at your full magical potential, something which is normally very hard and requires a certain set of parameters and stressors, both internal and external.

"However, there is one spell that was specifically designed with the Emrys Index in mind, one that is always cast at full power due to the nature of the arithmantic equations behind its formulation. I propose that we use this spell today to test the six of you, since your remarkable stand against Voldemort's inner circle took power and determination normally beyond that of fourth and fifth years."

Dumbledore pulled his wand as the Room of Requirement quite suddenly started to change around them. The table and the chairs remained, but one wall melted back about fifteen feet, leaving what looked like a dueling platform in its wake. On one end of the platform was a simple black line; on the other end was a gleaming silver shield, about eight feet high, engraved with the Hogwarts crest in gold.

"Hogwarts always does provide," Dumbledore said, smiling. He rose from his seat, moving toward the platform; all eyes followed him. "Now as I was saying, there is a spell used with the Emrys Index, and its incantation is _potens_. No movement is necessary; simply point your wand at the target, think of your magic, and cast the spell."

Dumbledore stepped onto the platform and positioned himself at the black line. "The shield you see is made of pure elementium, one of the rarest substances on the planet. The Four Founders enchanted it to facilitate their use of the Index."

They all watched as the Headmaster pointed his wanted straight at the large shield. A subtle hint of his power, felt along forearms and on the backs of necks, washed through the room.

"_Potens_," he said, calmly. A small, intensely bright, platinum sphere of magic flew from the tip of his wand and impacted the shield, dead center. The spell dissipated and all eyes turned up, where numbers and a word were appearing, written in the air:

_932 – Sorcerer_

"Now for some perspective," Dumbledore said, stepping down. "Minerva? Remus? Arthur? If you will."

Without a word, the three he named stood and joined him at the edge of the platform.

"I'll go first," Mr. Weasley said, stepping onto the platform and raising his wand. "_Potens_."

The spell was similar to Dumbledore's though much less bright. When it impacted the shield, Harry found himself looking up in anticipation, fascinated by this whole concept. He was surprised Hermione had never mentioned it before. He glanced at her and saw she was equally enraptured by the proceedings.

_379 – Above Average_

Lupin replaced him and cast the same spell. It was slightly brighter than Mr. Weasley's.

_565 – Well Above Average_

Finally, it was McGonagall's turn. Her spell was brighter than both wizards' that preceded her.

_701 – Sorceress_

"Excuse me," Hermione said, loudly, over the chatter that had erupted at seeing McGonagall listed as a sorceress. Harry wondered why they were surprised if they hadn't already known? McGonagall was quite obviously a very powerful witch. One only had to sit in her class to know this.

"Headmaster, is the scale linear or logarithmic?" she asked. Dumbledore cocked his head at her.

"It is not linear, but I am unfamiliar with the second term. Logarithmic?"

Hermione pursed her lips; then she pulled her wand. She proceeded to draw in the air with fire two half a y-axis and half an x-axis, along with a diagonal line emerging from their juncture.

"This would be the Emrys Index if it were linear," she instructed. She pointed to the top of the diagonal line. "That would be 1000." She waved her wand and the line disappeared; she then drew a logarithmic scale.

"And this would the Index if it were logarithmic. As you can see by the curve of the line, 1000 is significantly more powerful than 900, and so on."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore said. "The second scale more nearly approximates the Emrys Index. As I am more interested in the practical application of magic, you would need to speak to a magical theorist to gain the exact formula for the scale."

Hermione nodded, looking satisfied. She belated noticed that everyone seemed to be staring at her, most with shock and awe on their faces—except Harry, that is, who was just grinning at his girlfriend.

"What?" she wondered.

"You're brilliant," Harry told her, chuckling as he saw some nods of agreement. She blushed and smiled radiantly.

"Thank you, Harry."

"If the six of you do not mind, please come up here and cast the spell at the shield. I believe this will be instructive for everyone and, following that, we can move forward with the rest of the meeting."

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley took their seats as the six of them made their way to the platform. Harry tried to ignore the sets of eyes he could feel burning into his back.

"I think you should go last, Harry," Luna stated. "Save the best for last."

"The best?" Harry asked, bemused.

She waved it off, climbing onto the platform. "You know what I mean." A pause, then: "_Potens_."

Her platinum sphere seemed at least as bright as McGonagall's had been, which surprised Harry for some reason. He knew he shouldn't be, because Luna really was a very powerful witch, but they were all just kids. Even with what he'd done to Voldemort at the Ministry, and his newfound connection with his own magical core, he still couldn't believe he had so much power inside of him.

_779 – Sorceress_

There were gasps from the assembled Order members. Luna looked pleased with herself as she stepped down. Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Ron were looking at her with awe; Harry had actually expected something like that number when he had seen how bright her spell was.

Neville went next; he had to borrow Harry's wand to cast the spell. Dumbledore assured them it wouldn't matter that it wasn't a perfect match.

_804 – Sorcerer_

Neville's eyes nearly flew out of his head; the gasps from the Order members were louder this time.

"_Two_ of them?" someone muttered

"Nice one, Nev!" Harry said, his hand landing on his friend's shoulder as the other boy stepped down and handed back the wand.

"I had no idea…" he said.

"Really, Nev, after the D.A. this year, you should have known," Ginny commented, stepping onto the platform. She raised her wand and incanted.

_776 – Sorceress_

She pumped her fist in the air when she saw the result. The six of them were now ignoring the muttering and gasping going on behind them, though it was increasing in volume with each person.

"Ginevra Weasley, Sorceress," she told them, stepping down and smirking at them. She stepped to Neville's side and they gave each other a half-hug. Ron watched this but said nothing; he turned to the platform and gulped nervously.

"Ron, you have nothing to worry about," Hermione said. He turned to her, surprise on his face. "You may not like to study or ever do work, but when you _do_ master a spell, it is always very powerful."

He nodded, thanked her, and stepped up. He set himself and cast the spell.

_658 – Sorcerer_

The grin on Ron's face at the result could have lit up London for days. They all congratulated him as he stepped down. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand one more time and finally let go, stepping forward and onto the platform. She set her self, a fiercely determined look on her face. Harry didn't think she could possibly look any sexier. An incredibly bright platinum orb flew from her wand, bright enough for them to have to shield their eyes from it. As their vision cleared, their eyes turned upward.

_998 – Sorceress_

"WHAT!" a familiar voice exclaimed, from behind them. "Surely that can't be correct—"

Dedalus Diggle cut himself off when Harry Potter whirled to face the table. His eyes were glowing green with power.

"And why not?" Harry asked, his voice low and laced with anger. "Because she's a Muggleborn? Because no one could possibly have more innate power than the Headmaster? None of the results have been questioned so far. Why do you question Hermione's?"

Everyone in the room could feel Harry's magic pressing on them; this partially abated when Hermione stepped down and laid her hand on Harry's arm, shaking her head.

"I…er…it was just…unexpected…" Diggle said, sounding quite frightened and pitiful.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said, softly, and pulled him into a loose embrace. The ambient magic drained out of the room.

"Anytime," Harry responded, reveling in her touch and her scent and her presence. The room was completely silent for several seconds.

"Your turn," Hermione whispered, her hot breath on his ear. He involuntarily shivered, causing Hermione to smile knowingly at him. He smiled back at her and she laughed, diffusing the tension even further. Harry turned to the platform and stepped onto it, looking at his wand. It was amazing that such a small, fragile thing could do so much good—or evil—in the world.

He pointed his wand at the shield, focused on the magical core he could so feel so readily within, and incanted, "_Potens_."

Harry was immediately forced to turn his head and close his eyes; the murmurs and noises of shock from all the others in the room told him they had all done the same thing. His spell had been too bright to even properly see through the blinding light it emanated.

As his vision cleared, he sought the numbers that would soon appear over the shield.

_1404 - Mage_


	5. Reality

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Chapter 5: Reality**

_BANG!_

The uproar Harry's score had caused immediately ceased and everyone turned toward the source of the noise, which was Sirius. His wand was pointed straight into the air and he was looking around, highly annoyed at the general hubbub.

"Enough!" he exclaimed. "Everyone take a seat and we'll examine what just happened. Shouting and arguing is solving nothing."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you were the voice of reason," Hermione said, with a smile on her face. Sirius smiled grimly back; as this exchange was occurring, mostly everyone seemed to be heeding his words. Dumbledore had neither moved nor said anything since Harry cast the spell; instead, he had sat there serenely as everyone had a fit.

Harry and the other five took the seats they had vacated. He still wasn't sure what to make of his score. Intellectually, it made a certain kind of sense, based on his limited knowledge of the Emrys Index and what he had been able to do at the Ministry; emotionally, though, and psychologically, he had a hard time believing he was capable of such a thing.

"I just don't see how it's possible," Flitwick said, after everyone had settled down. "All six of them possess sorcerer-level magical potential? And Harry is a—he's a _mage_? I've never even heard of that before. Surely we would have known after teaching them these past years what they were capable of…"

There were murmurs of agreement. Harry and the other five glanced at each other; they were silently confirming that, while cool, they had no idea they were each individually that powerful.

"Albus, are you sure the shield is working correctly?" Mrs. Weasley asked, staring at Ron and Ginny, alternately. Harry thought he could see pride in her eyes, which was a vast improvement over the usual annoyance she normally expressed.

"I have no reason to doubt its validity," Dumbledore finally spoke, his eyes resting on Harry.

"But surely you don't believe that Hermione Granger is more powerful than you are?" Alastor Moody questioned. Harry bristled but did not speak because Hermione laid a calming hand over his. "Or that she is nearly as powerful as Merlin purportedly was?"

"I do not have to _believe_ it," Dumbledore answered. "The proof was plainly there for us all to see."

Harry noticed that Dumbledore seemed to be taking this all quite well, as if he had expected or guessed something like this might happen. Perhaps that was the reason the Headmaster had called this meeting in the first place?

"But…but…" Diggle sputtered. "She's a mere _fifth _year. How is that even possible?"

"Might I remind you that Harry is also a 'mere' fifth year, and his score was off the known scale," Dumbledore said. "Just because the results are beyond the pale of our experience does not preclude their possibility. We must all learn to keep an open mind about these things…" he trailed off, as his eyes wandered from person to person around the table.

"I find it inconceivable that Hermione, knowledgeable and powerful she may be, could ever hope to challenge you in a duel, Albus," Shacklebolt said, in his deep, rolling tones.

Ron grunted something and Luna was shaking her head. Harry looked at Ginny and Neville and they had equally as conspicuous unhappy looks on their faces. Hermione leaned forward.

"I think you're all missing the point," she said, quietly. She sounded awed. Harry supposed he would be too if he'd just learned he was the second Merlin—wait, come to think of it, he had; well, technically, Hermione was the second Merlin, and he was something beyond even that fabled wizard. He shook his head slightly at the impossibility of it all.

"I think you are correct, Hermione," Dumbledore agreed. "As you all just learned and as many of you should have already understood, the Emrys Index measures only what a magical core is capable of at the extreme upper limits of output. The situations in which this is possible are few and far between, and normally rely on a combination of factors."

"Such as?" Sirius prompted.

"Each witch or wizard is different, but as we all know magic is both intent-based and emotion-based. Intellectual, emotional, and physical factors as well as unconscious or subconscious and internal or external stimuli must combine in such a way to prompt unfettered access to one's magic—it literally must become an extension of the conscious mind.

"For Harry, this was watching Hermione fall at the Ministry and thinking she might have been killed. Usually watching or thinking loved ones might be in danger is the precursor to such large magical occurrences, and provide a solid foundation for many theories about full access to one's magic.

"If each one of us was pushed in such a way, our output would increase to near our maximum capability. This has always been true of magic in general; typically when necessity combines with powerful emotion and intention, the most amazing things can happen."

"So what you're really saying is we shouldn't piss Hermione or especially Harry off—or any of those six, for that matter?" Tonks asked, looking at the six in question as she did so and grinning cheekily. The three females, in perfectly synchronized fashion, stuck their tongues out at the young Auror. Harry, Ron, and Neville laughed.

Even Dumbledore was smiling. "Likely a prudent choice in most situations. However, I can see by the confusion on some of your faces that a practical demonstration is in order." Everyone watched as Dumbledore walked around the table and stepped onto the platform once again.

"The Power spell was specifically designed to show someone's magical potential. All other spells do not work like that, however. The shield will show the actual power of any other spell cast at it, rather than that wizard's or witch's full potential."

The Headmaster raised his wand toward the shield. "_Stupefy_," he incanted. A small red bolt of magic crossed the intervening space and splashed against the shield.

_220 – Below Average_

"So you see, I held back on that spell, and its power was accordingly low, relative to my overall capacity. A spell like that would not stun most above average wizards and witches."

He raised his wand again and fired another Stunner.

_400 – Above Average_

"That time I neither held back nor pushed for any more of my magic. So 400 is around my default casting level."

He raised his wand a third time and paused for a moment. His eyes narrowed and all those present could feel the telltale signs of magic trickling into the air around them—raised hairs, goose bumps, and the slight smell of ozone. He shot a third stunner.

_630 – Well Above Average_

"Now I have purposely cast with more powerful than I normally put into spells. As you can see, the power output is approaching more nearly to my maximum."

Dumbledore raised his wand a fourth time, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and set himself. Quite suddenly, he opened his eyes and, at the same time, everyone was powerfully buffeted by the Headmaster's roiling magic. A sourceless wind rushed around the room, whipping hair and cloaks alike; there were some noises of surprise at this and the Headmaster's glowing pale blue eyes.

Harry could feel the power in the magic all around him. It was slightly humbling to know that Dumbledore had so much potential in him—_and_ that Hermione had even more—because the Headmaster usually hid it so carefully. To see him let go like this reinforced what Sirius had said earlier about him being an incredibly powerful ally.

"_Stupefy_," Dumbledore incanted, his voice taking on a slightly deeper timbre.

The chaotic red mass of swirling magical energy was significant larger and brighter than all those that had come before.

_809 – Sorcerer_

The magic quickly subsided from the room and the wind died down; Dumbledore's eyes stopped glowing. Other than a slightly elevated respiration, he seemed unchanged.

"I mustered as much of my magic as I could for that final Stunner," he said, returning to his seat as everyone looked on.

"So the discrepancy between that spell and your true potential has to do with the factors you previously mentioned, correct?" Hermione asked. "Because you were not in any danger and there really was no other reason for your magic to respond to your call so absolutely, you could not access its full strength?"

"Yes, exactly right," Dumbledore agreed. "As you know, though, I am very old, and even the 809 you all just witnessed has taken decades to approach. When I first started exploring the limits of my magic, I could barely muster 600, even though my full potential has remained unchanged since I was 25. It takes practice, discipline, and training—both physical and mental—to be able to efficiently use more and more of your magic."

"So really we couldn't have known their magical potentials from their coursework because they are still so young and could only hope to use that much power in very special situations?" Flitwick clarified.

Dumbledore nodded.

"Why is none of this taught in school?" Ginny wondered, asking the question that had been on Harry's mind for several minutes now. "Wouldn't this knowledge make everyone better witches and wizards?"

"Some of you, yes, I am sure, Miss Weasley," McGonagall answered. "But the use of the Emrys Index was outlawed because knowledge of magical potentials caused hierarchies based on potential power to form; most of the time these hierarchies had no basis in real life, and were simply the result of the _potential_ upper end of a person's particular magic. The majority of witches and wizards never find cause to cast at the full power, and many are never capable of it anyway for a variety of emotional and psychological reasons.

"Thus the use of the Index was informally banned quite a number of years ago and all of the related theory has slowly fallen out of use. The last time it was formally mentioned in the Hogwarts curriculum was 1945."

Ginny nodded along with the rest of them, understanding what McGonagall was saying.

"Now," Dumbledore said, returning the attention of the room to him. "I suspected that our six newest members were more powerful than average, but I admit even I was surprised at the results. Harry's new classification as mage is obviously the most startling, and it makes me curious what the power of his spells were at the Ministry earlier today.

"As I have said, 800 is around the highest I can achieve in a controlled situation such as this, and that was after many years of practice and study. I am curious what you are all capable of at this moment. Would you all be willing to try a Stunner at full power?"

"How much longer are we going to be your guinea pigs?" Ron asked.

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. "Do not—"

"It is alright, Molly," Dumbledore interrupted. "Ron has a valid point." He turned to look at Ron. "This is the last test for today." Ron nodded, satisfied, and ignored the murderous glare his mother directed toward him.

The Ministry Six, as they would be called in later years, stood and made their way back to the platform. They decided to go in the same order as they had before, which meant Luna was first. After setting herself, she concentrated for several moments, and Harry could feel the trickle of her magic along his nerves.

"_Stupefy!_" The spell leapt from her wand.

_348 – Above Average_

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she saw her score.

"Do not be disappointed, Luna," Dumbledore said. "That is an admirable amount of power for a fourth year. Your true potential as a sorceress is much higher, but you have many years to develop and grow. The same is true of the rest of you." Luna looked somewhat appeased and Neville replaced her on the platform. He shot his Stunner after concentrating briefly, during which Harry felt _his_ magic in the air.

_390 – Above Average_

Ginny was next. The process was repeated, and Harry felt her magic, as he expected to now.

_351 – Above Average_

"Ginevra Weasley, Soon-To-Be-Sorceress," she joked, as she stepped down, referencing her earlier statement.

Then it was Ron's turn. Harry didn't feel the presence of his magic on the air before he cast the Stunner.

_305 – Average_

Ron's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as he stepped down. Harry stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and the two friends looked at each other.

"You heard what Professor Dumbledore said, Ron," Harry told him. "Don't forget that you're capable of being a true sorcerer." Ron nodded and smiled, and moved aside so Hermione could ascend to the platform. Harry was _very_ interested in the outcome of her test.

She set herself and after a moment he could feel her magic in the air; it rolled along his nerves and up his spine and settled into his skin—not an unpleasant sensation at all.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry's eyes followed the bright red core of magic as it sailed down the platform and hit the shield.

_411 – Above Average_

Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance, glancing down at her wand as if it had betrayed her. She stepped down and Harry whispered in her ear practically the same thing he'd said to Ron. She nodded in acceptance but when he pulled back he could still see the frustration buried in her eyes.

He hopped onto the platform and pointed his wand at the shield, closing his eyes and looking into himself at the platinum core of magic he was coming to know well. It was coiling and sparking and very active, just waiting to be set free. He didn't know it, but a grin spread across his features as he felt this wellspring of his power responding to his call, coming forth when he beckoned. Some of the spectators were making noises now, but ignored them, focusing on his magic and forcing more and more of it to the surface. It helped when he remembered the desperation and despair he had felt upon witnessing Hermione fall, though the feelings now were only a transparent ghost of what they had been.

Finally he opened his eyes; he almost lost focus at what he saw. Everyone was bracing themselves against the onslaught of his magic, some in more effective ways than others. For instance, Hermione and Ginny had cast shield to protect his five friends and they were all just grinning at him; Dumbledore didn't appear to be affected too much, other than leaning to the side slightly and holding his bear from flying into someone's face in the false wind. Several people were holding onto the table for dear life.

He turned his attention to the target. He knew this was about as much power as he could call at the moment.

"_Stupefy!_"

He was blown backward off his feet; some quick thinking with a Cushioning charm on his part saved his head from impacting the stone floor; he was peripherally aware that everyone else in the room was blown around or off their feet from the pressure wave the gigantic red spell created.

The massive Stunner impacted the shield, which previously had been immobile, and pushed the giant elementium plate back several inches. As the magic bled off into the air around the shield, the center of the object burned a superheated orange, the most visible evidence of the spell's unusual power. From his position on his back, Harry watched as the results formed in the air.

_937 – Sorcerer_

Harry stood and looked around, a little embarrassed at the chaos his spell had caused.

"Everyone alright," he asked, walking to his friends and helping them pull themselves to their feet. Hermione was first and he looked into her eyes to make sure she was unharmed. What he saw there surprised him: her eyes had darkened and the look she was giving him could only be described as lustful. He pecked her on the lips.

"I'm glad you're ok," he said, turning to help Luna up as well. He heard Hermione growl in the back of her throat and could only laugh lightly in response.

"Truly remarkable, just remarkable…" someone was muttering. Everyone was eventually situated once again, looking rather windswept and ruffled, and the conversation turned toward what the tests meant. Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as the adults in the room pointed out one obvious fact after another. He could tell by the looks on his friends' faces they were growing bored too.

Obvious conclusion #1: The six of them were formidable witches and wizards, and would only grow more formidable with training and time.

Obvious conclusion #2: Hermione had the most potential, second to Harry, but was currently less proportionately powerful than her peers. A puzzle for another time, though Harry knew she was already turning it over in her wonderful mind.

Obvious conclusion #3: The six of them had at least sorcerer/sorceress potential, which meant they were probably the six most potentially powerful students in the school. The only way to know would be to test every student.

Obvious conclusion #4: Hermione would most likely join Harry in the new mage category, since magical potential increased slightly until the age of 25 or so.

Obvious conclusion #5: Harry had just cast a Stunner more powerful than Dumbledore ever could, even under perfect circumstances.

Obvious conclusion #6: Harry was likely the most powerful being on Earth, and would be for sure when he had ready access to more of his power.

Not-So-Obvious Conclusion #1: Harry's Not-Apparation into Hogwarts was probably the result of him existing at a higher power level than Dumbledore, who had placed the current incarnation of the Anti-Apparation wards around Hogwarts. Or perhaps his new method of magical travel was unaffected by the wards.

Not-So-Obvious Conclusion #2: Extra training was a distinct possibility for the six of them, since they were now all involved in the war and knew about the prophecy. Parental consent would be necessary.

Finally, the meeting started to break up. Dumbledore promised another meeting in a few days or a week, once everyone had digested all of the information and events of the day. He asked for Sirius, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and the Ministry Six to stay behind.

Before anyone could move to leave, though, the door to the Room of Requirement creaked open. Dumbledore stopped talking and all eyes swiveled in the direction. Silent shock descended over the room.

"Voldemort is not pleased," Severus Snape wheezed. He promptly collapsed in the doorway, still clutching his severed left arm in his right hand.

* * *

><p>"Why would Voldemort <em>do<em> such a thing?" Ginny asked, quietly. The six friends were all sitting or laying on Hermione's magically enlarged bed in the fifth year Gryffindor girls' dorm. Hermione and Luna had placed Silencing and Notice-Me-Not charms on the bed hangings so they would not be disturbed.

It had been a supremely long day—two days, really—and the six of them wanted nothing more than to sleep. But with everything that had happened, they needed to talk a little bit, too. So they had decided to change into their pajamas and meet in Hermione's bed. Harry, Ron, and Neville had bypassed the security ward on the stairs by using brooms. It was such an obvious solution that they wondered if anyone had thought of it before. And that wasn't even recognizing the fact that Harry could have likely transported them all there anyway.

Harry found his eyes wandering to Hermione more and more often. She was dressed in blue short shorts and a dark tank top, and based on the little points where her chest stretched the fabric it was questionable whether she was wearing a bra. He tried not to think about it too much, and it would have been easier not to if Luna and Ginny weren't dressed similarly too. Why did girls look so damn hot in their pajamas?

"Because he can," Neville shrugged. "He's obviously pissed at what Harry did, and he took it out on his Death Eaters."

"Do you think he took all of their left arms off?"

"I doubt it," Hermione said. "Why would he want to cripple his entire force?"

"Don't forget that it is relatively easy to put an arm back on with magic—certainly painful, and time consuming, but not too difficult," Luna supplied, from where she lay on her back. Some of her flat tummy was exposed as her shirt rode up. Harry noticed Ron's eyes returning to that creamy expanse of skin again and again. It seemed the boys were all having similar problems.

"Merlin, I'm tired," Ron said, after a little while. He yawned hugely. "Urgh," he groaned. "Our dorm is _so_ far away." He was now stretched out on his back as well.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, finding himself fighting sleep as well. "And Hermione, your bed is so comfortable."

Neville smiled from where he lay on his side next to Ginny. "You would say that, Harry. After all, it is your girlfriend's bed."

Harry's eyebrow tweaked upward but he was too tired to really retaliate. Instead, he pulled Hermione down next to him and snuggled into her. They weren't quite spooning, but it was close; she was warm and soft in all the right places. He heard her sigh of contentment as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Too right," Harry eventually agreed. "So what are you all still doing here?"

Ron's soft snore was the only sound that answered him.

Harry chuckled softly and cast a low-powered silencing charm at the redhead, before drifting off to sleep himself. He felt more peaceful than he had in some time as the blackness closed in around him.


	6. Exposure

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Chapter 6: Exposure**

Hermione woke to several sensations at once: a soft weight on her hip; a feeling of warmth and peace she couldn't ever remember feeling before; and something rather firm pressed to her bum. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw that she was on her side, facing the edge of her bed. The weight on her hip, she saw, was a hand she recognized as Harry's, and the warmth she was feeling came from his body that snuggled up behind her—which could only mean that firmness was…

Her eyes widening in comprehension, she carefully reached for her wand, which was beneath her pillow, and cast a Mirror charm so she could see behind her. She had to stifle laughter at the _unique_ image it presented.

Harry was spooning her; Ginny was spooning Harry; Neville was spooning Ginny; Luna was spooning Neville; and Ron completed the train by spooning Luna. Everyone else was still asleep, and they all looked as content as she felt. She could only vaguely remember falling asleep in Harry's arms, and that at the time the rest were still in her bed, so they must have all maneuvered themselves into this position during the night.

Taking her lip between her teeth, she wiggled her bum a bit, blushing at her own audacity as Harry's morning hardness pressed a little deeper between her cheeks. He grunted in his sleep. Her eyebrows rose of their own accord as she considered his sleeping response to her actions; then she wiggled again. His hand tightened on her hip.

Her shorts had now ridden up to the point that half her arse was showing, and her modesty prevented her from doing anything else, especially since the other four were so close. With one last little wiggle, she reach down and pulled her shorts back over her bum.

She cleared her throat, canceling the Mirror charm at the same time.

"Well, this is interesting," she said. There were various snorts and sniffles and yawns from behind as everyone rejoined the waking the world. Harry started to move his hand from her hip, but she grabbed it and held it there. He was breathing lightly into her neck.

"Er, well hello everyone," Ron said. Luna giggled and from Ron's sharp intake of breath, Hermione guessed she was experimenting with the wiggling too.

"I'm the meat in a Neville-Harry sandwich," Ginny said, sounding quite amused.

"And _I'm_ the meat in a Ron-Neville sandwich," Luna said, still giggling.

Hermione felt Harry chuckle lightly against her. It caused him to move into her slightly in a way that made an unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome, shot of desire run through her. She could get used to waking up in his arms.

"I have you both beat. Ginny and Hermione are my slices of bread. What more could a bloke ask for?"

"How about Luna and Ginny?" Neville asked, the same bemused tone in his voice that had fallen over the whole situation.

Silence returned as everyone contemplated moving; they were all so comfortable that moving and facing the day—and the rest of the school—seemed like a very poor alternative.

"Do boys always have erections in the morning?" Luna asked, inquisitively.

Neville coughed and Ron and Harry laughed nervously. After a time when no one seemed to have the courage to answer Luna's question out of embarrassment, Hermione finally took up the gauntlet.

"Typically yes, Luna…" she said. She hoped that was all she needed to say on the matter.

"Why?" Luna asked. Hermione closed her eyes briefly. The comfortable atmosphere had quickly turned awkward, though no one seemed willing to move just yet. Hermione found it impossible not to notice that the topic had caused Harry's not inconsiderable _wand_ to stop poking her so urgently. She found herself wanting to wiggle her bum again to bring it back. Mercifully, for him, she suppressed the urge.

"A full bladder, the result of sleeping through the night, puts pressure on the prostate," Hermione explained. "It's an involuntary reaction."

"Oh," was all the blond girl said in response, saving everyone from further embarrassment.

"You're so smart," Harry murmured in her ear, humor foremost in his voice.

"I _do_ read, you know," Hermione replied.

"Oh, I know," Harry said, now laughing outright.

"Not that I'm particularly upset, mind you, but why is this ok? The six of us like this? Before the Ministry I think I would have freaked out," Ron said.

"I was actually thinking the same thing," Neville said.

"I'm perfectly fine with where I am right now, thank you very much," Ginny said, and Luna agreed with her.

"Me too," Hermione said, drawing Harry's hand over her body and placing it on her stomach. He began to rub slow circles around her navel. "But Ron does have a point. This would have been unbearably awkward…"

The way Hermione trailed off made everyone assume she already had a theory.

"Well, out with it, Hermione," Ginny told her.

"Post-traumatic stress," Hermione said. "We were fighting for our lives at the Ministry; combine that with practically no sleep for two days and everything we learned about our magic yesterday… Well, naturally we would want to seek comfort from those who had gone through the same. It's Muggle psychology."

"Now that Hermione has answered our most burning questions," Harry said, "we should think about how we're going to get out of her bed without the entire school thinking we had a giant orgy by lunchtime."

"Ooooh, that sounds like fun!" Luna exclaimed.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Moody, and Tonks gathered around the bed of Severus Snape in the Infirmary. Dumbledore had not had a chance to speak to the Six or Sirius and the Weasleys the night before because of Snape's rather abrupt entrance, but he planned to sometime that day. Classes and exams were now over, and the students would all be going home for the summer in six days. There would be plenty of time for the meeting later in the day.<p>

Snape was awake and lucid now; he wore a constant grimace from the pain of his arm knitting itself back to his body, with the aid of Pomfrey's expert skills of course. Dumbledore had called this small meeting to ascertain exactly what was happening with Voldemort.

"As you can see," Snape said, irony and bitterness coloring his voice, "The Dark Lord was not in a state of mind to be reasoned with. He was furious at the level of power Potter displayed and even more furious that he was forced to reveal himself so ineffectually."

"Did he say anything specifically about his plans?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape shook his head. "Most of it was absolutely incoherent, Albus. He outright killed several low-ranking Death Eaters, before deciding removing some of our arms was the better course of action. His was already healing by that point. The only thing I could glean from his ravings was his intention to break the captured Death Eaters out of the Ministry or Azkaban as soon as possible."

"You say that like it might not be such a bad thing," McGonagall commented, hearing his decidedly apathetic tone of voice. Snape turned his beady eyes to her.

"I can only imagine what kind of punishment he will exact upon them for failing him so spectacularly," Snape explained. "Whatever it is, it will probably be far worse than a short stay with the Dementors." McGonagall nodded and shuddered at the implication.

"Can we expect any kind of public retaliation in the near future?" Tonks asked.

Snape shrugged, wincing at the pain in his left shoulder. "I do not know, Nymphadora," he said, ignoring her noise of disdain at his use of her full name. "I would think he is preoccupied with other matters for now, like understanding how he could have been beaten by Potter, but he may decide to take his anger and frustration out on the public. You never do know with the Dark Lord. He plays everything extremely close to the chest."

Dumbledore made a noise of agreement as stared off into space, twirling his beard between his fingers as he thought about Riddle's next move. Snape turned his gaze upon the Headmaster.

"Albus, what _did_ happen at the Ministry? How was Potter of all people able to do that?"

"'Of all people'?" McGonagall asked. "And what is that supposed to mean, Severus?"

Snape pursed his lips and grimaced again. "Regardless of my personal dislike of the boy, you all must agree that he has never shown much aptitude beyond that of an average wizard."

"There have clearly been a select few instances where that is not the case…" Flitwick said. "Be that as it may, however, we did learn some rather startling information last night that puts this whole thing into perspective."

"Thank you, Filius," Dumbledore said. He turned to Snape and explained the results of the previous night's Order meeting. To say that Snape was surprised would be an understatement.

"If it weren't you telling me, Albus, I would think it was simply the boy trying to garner himself even more attention—"

"That _boy_ does have a name, Severus," McGonagall snapped, finally losing patience with the intractability of the Potions Master. "And just because you have persisted in holding your grudge against James Potter all these years, that does not mean you should continue to take it out on his son, who is in truth much more like his mother in many ways."

"Minerva is correct, Severus. I think it is long past the time for you to let bygones be bygones."

Severus glared at Albus. "What's with your sudden change of heart? You were more than ready to keep Potter in the dark until just yesterday."

"I had the error of my ways forcefully pointed out to me," Dumbledore responded, glancing at the now-repaired windows of the Infirmary. "Harry is and always has been up the challenges of his destiny. I needed to accept that. And after his display at the Ministry, it was hard to ignore it any longer."

Snape threw his one healthy arm in the air. "Perfect!" he exclaimed. "Potter gets even more attention and special treatment. What's next? Special training for him and his five rule-breaking friends?"

"Actually, yes," Dumbledore said, now glaring back at Severus. Merlin, the man was stubborn! Dumbledore almost blushed as he realized only his own stubbornness could match it.

"What?" Snape shouted. "That's—"

"That's _what_, Snape?" Tonks asked, snapping like McGonagall had moments earlier. Harry was noble and selfless and she couldn't understand why this awful man had such hatred in his heart for Harry. "It's _necessary_," she continued. "They are all in the middle of this now. They are primary targets after the events of the Ministry. And knowing all of them, it would be pointless to try to hide them away. Would you want to be? The only recourse, especially knowing how powerful they can be, is to train them and prepare them for what's coming so they can properly fight in this war when the time comes."

"Foolish Gryffindors always charging blindly into things," Snape muttered.

"I would be careful of insulting them, especially when Harry's around," Tonks advised. "You saw what Harry did to Voldemort. Imagine what he could do to you?"

Snape locked eyes with Tonks for a moment. He could see the truth of her words in her eyes. The part of his consciousness linked with his sense of self-preservation was screaming at him to back off a bit, especially where the boy was concerned. He would need to think about all of this when he was alone.

Snape closed his eyes and sighed. "Are we done?"

"For now," Dumbledore said. "If you can think of anything else Voldemort may have mentioned, let me know as soon as possible."

"Of course, Albus," he said, in a resigned voice. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the Headmaster standing there, though the others had already turned and were walking toward exit. Dumbledore's kind eyes smiled down upon him.

"Rest easy, and get well soon."

* * *

><p>As it turned out, the sextet's problem was easy to fix. Harry simply transported himself, Ron, and Neville over to the stairwell just outside boys' dorm; luckily for them, no one was descending to the common room at that point and they were unseen. Hermione, Luna, and Ginny would claim a slumber party if asked by Hermione's dorm mates about the presence of the two fourth years.<p>

After changing and returning the common room, where the girls were waiting, the six of them made their way down through the castle toward the Great Hall. Luna had borrowed some of Ginny's clothing since they were approximately the same size and it eliminated her having to return to the Ravenclaw tower. The corridors were largely empty and silent; when they reached the top of the Grand Staircase that led to the Entrance Hall, they could plainly hear that the Great Hall was full.

They looked at each other and, gathering courage from the knowledge they would all stick together, made their way down the stairs, across the Entrance Hall, and into the Great Hall. As if a switch had been flipped, conversation quickly died down. All eyes turned toward them, at which time much murmuring restarted. The Six could plainly see the Daily Prophet wielded animatedly in a number of hands, which meant everyone probably already knew what had happened the day before.

Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and led them to the Gryffindor table, where they took their normal seats. Luna simply sat next to Ron, ignoring the odd looks she received from some of the other Gryffindors.

"Blimey, Harry, is it all true?" Seamus asked, waving the Prophet in his face. Harry calmly gathered breakfast for himself as his friends did the same.

"I don't know," Harry answered. "Since we haven't read any of it yet, how could we?" Seamus didn't say anything; instead, he held the paper out for Harry to take. Harry nodded to him and took the paper, opening it so Hermione could see it as well. Copies were soon passed to the other four.

**YOU-KNOW-WHO RETURNS**

_**BOY-WHO-LIVED SAVES MINISTER FOR MAGIC**_

_By: Phillip Tether_

_Early yesterday morning, the Wizarding World was taken by surprise by the return of You-Know-Who and the infiltration of the Ministry of Magic by twelve Death Eaters and their master. Their goal is uncertain at this time, but what is certain is that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, arrived with five of his friends, before any Ministry personnel, to stand and fight against the forces of evil. One Death Eater, Antonin Dolohov, was killed, and the rest were captured and are currently awaiting trial in maximum security cells in Azkaban._

_Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley, Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood are the cause of this victory. Mr. Potter needs no introduction. Ms. Granger is the longtime friend and confidant of Mr. Potter, and is reportedly the smartest witch of the last several generations. Ms. and Mr. Weasley are the two youngest Weasley children of Molly and Arthur Weasley, the latter of which works at the Ministry; Mr. Weasley completes the 'Golden Trio.' Neville Longbottom is the Scion of House Longbottom and heir apparent to its lordship. Finally, Luna Lovegood is the daughter of Xenophilius and the late Solara Lovegood, the former of which is the editor of _The Quibbler_ and the latter of which was a highly respected Spell-Crafter before her untimely demise._

_These six fourth and fifth years stood against twelve Death Eaters like Aurors three times their age might have. After the Death Eaters were subdued, and after the six had suffered several injuries, You-Know-Who arrived in the Ministry. Mr. Potter faced him the Atrium and, in a shocking duel—both for its brevity and its intensity—showed power and resilience that has rarely if ever been seen before. He also saved Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, from a Killing Curse with a well-timed Summoning spell. After severely injuring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with what the experts are assuming was a silent Reductor curse and causing him to Portkey away, Mr. Potter promptly disappeared from the Ministry with his five friends._

_Albus Dumbledore, formerly a wanted man, showed up to help Mr. Potter, but the Boy-Who-Lived had it well in hand. Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore has been reinstated as Headmaster of Hogwarts and Minister Fudge quickly repealed all of the educational reforms that had taken hold at Hogwarts during the past year. Fudge's former liaison at Hogwarts—one Dolores Umbridge—has been neither heard from nor seen since three days ago._

_These recent events call into question everything that has happened over the past year, beginning with the trial of Mr. Potter last summer and ending with exactly why it was up to six school-age wizards and witches to stand and fight against You-Know-Who and his minions? Mr. Potter and Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore have been claiming since the end of the Triwizard Tournament last year that You-Know-Who had returned; while the Ministry was quick to deny this and the rest of the world was even quicker to believe the Ministry—including this newspaper—it is now obvious they were telling the truth all along._

_Due to that, we, at _The Daily Prophet_, and we, as citizens of the Wizarding world, owe Mr. Potter and Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore an apology for ever doubting them. We also owe them a debt of gratitude for standing firm in the face of such public condemnation and continuing to protect us from those forces that would seek to end our way of life. Thank you, Harry Potter, and thank you, Albus Dumbledore. _The Daily Prophet_ would also like to express its thanks to Mr. Potter's five friends for standing with him._

_The identities and the histories of the twelve Death Eaters, page 2_

_Upheaval at the Ministry, page 3_

_Will Fudge keep his job? page 3_

_The rise and fall and rise again of You-Know-Who, page 4_

_More about Mr. Potter and his friends, page 5_

_Supreme Mugwump, Chief Wizard, and Headmaster Dumbledore, page 6_

_A preliminary investigation into Dolores Umbridge, page 7_

Harry, Hermione, and the rest simply stared at the article. He was surprised that it was as fair and accurate as it seemed to be, and that the article had even bothered mentioning his five friends. Normally in the past _The Daily Prophet_ was either so enamored with or put off by him that it ignored everything else. This article, however, was as comprehensive as he could have hoped.

He was slightly embarrassed, though, at the half-page picture above the article's body but below the headline: in it, Harry summoned Fudge out of the way of the Killing Curse and threw his overpowered Reductor at Voldemort, blowing everyone including the photographer off their feet. The last thing displayed before the picture restarted was Voldemort's arm flying off in a spray of blood.

If there had been any doubt of Harry's power before, the school and the wider Wizarding world would never again harbor similar sentiments. It made Hermione question what the response of the Death Nibblers like Malfoy and Nott would be, especially when they realized it was their fathers now in Azkaban. The other detail that stuck out in her mind was the nugget of information about Luna's deceased mother, which a quick glance at the blond showed Hermione she seemed unaffected by its inclusion in _The Prophet_.

"Couldn't really have been any better, I suppose," Ginny said, laying the paper on the table and looking up.

"No, I guess not," Harry agreed, surprised.

"So it _is_ all true then?" Dean wondered. The Gryffindors and the students at the other tables closest to them were hanging on their words.

Harry nodded. "Yes."

The murmuring started forcefully once again, sweeping through the Great Hall as students turned to their meals with the confirmation in their minds. Hermione glanced up at the Head Table and saw the usual faces, with the exception of Snape. Dumbledore was reading _The Prophet_, several pages in, oblivious to all else. There was a look of satisfaction on his features.

"Hmm, I wonder what happened to Umbitch?" Neville questioned, loading his plate with breakfast.

"If Merlin and the fates are smiling on us, she'll be dead by now," Ron answered, already eating.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. His eyes turned to her, rather incredulously. Everyone else at the table was looking at her oddly too; the story of the trap into which she'd led the Toad had made the rounds.

"What?" he questioned. "You're the one that bloody led her to the Centaurs in the first place!"

"He's right, you know," Harry agreed, though he sounded more amused than anything.

"That was to get her off our backs," Hermione harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I wouldn't wish _death _upon her…perhaps only a life sentence with the Dementors," she finished, looking down at the back of Harry's hand where _I must not tell lies _was permanently etched in scar tissue.

"Riiiiight," Ron drawled. "Because that's _sooo_ much better than death by Centaur."

Hermione shrugged, turning to her food. Harry was chuckling as he took her hand for a moment a squeezed, lending his silent support to her. She found herself smiling and nodding at him almost involuntarily. When had his tacit support become so meaningful to her, beyond its constant presence and assurance? He was now her boyfriend, true, but she didn't think that term was adequate for the relationship they shared. Honestly, before they had formally declared their love for each other, their friendship was far deeper than most "relationships" could ever hope to be. She never wanted to be without him again.

Someone cleared their throat directly behind her and Harry. Ron and Luna, who were sitting across from them, looked up at the person; Ron's eyes narrowed quickly and Luna simply stared at whoever it was.

"Potter," came a familiar Slytherin voice, though it was coiled with hidden tension, "we need to talk."


	7. Politicking

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Thank you for the support, interest, and reviews so far. I am honored.

**Chapter 7: Politicking**

Harry and Hermione shared a look, in which Hermione seemed to say it was his call and Harry seemed to grudgingly admit that he would have to at least acknowledge the speaker. With a brief sigh, he swung around on the bench and leaned back against the table, raising his eyes as he did so.

The statuesque, aristocratic, blond Slytherin stood before him, meeting his eyes with an aloof yet calculating certainty that did not surprise Harry in the least.

"Ok," Harry eventually said, "talk."

"Not here, Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Greengrass," he said, for the 'Frosty Cunt' of Slytherin stood before him in all her 5'10" perfectly proportioned and coifed glory, "whatever it is you have to say to me should likely be said here, where your words and my words can't later be misrepresented."

Her eyes tightened, though there was anxiety in them as well. "What I have to say to you isn't for the ears of the entire school," she said, quietly, and forcefully. Harry heard Ron scoff behind him.

"You've barely said more than ten words to any of us since we started at Hogwarts," Ron said. "Why don't you wander on back to Slytherin and continue to live up to your reputation."

"And just what _is_ my reputation?" she asked, her tight gaze swinging to Ron.

"Switzerland," Hermione said, causing more than just Daphne to focus on her in confusion. "And, ah, how to say this delicately…" she trailed off.

"Frosty cunt or ice queen or supreme bitch ring any bells?" Daphne asked, rather dryly, considering the subject of her question.

"Something like that," Ron muttered, the wind having been spectacularly taken out of his sails.

"Right, well, now that the proper introductions have been passed around, I would like to speak to Potter in private—and don't give me that look, Granger, of course you can come to." Her frozen blue eyes were once again on Harry.

He looked at Hermione and they had another silent conversation. He was aware that Daphne was rolling her eyes at them, but he ignored her for the moment. Eventually Hermione nodded and Harry turned back to the Slytherin.

"Fine, on one condition." Daphne made a bored 'get on with it' motion with her hand. It was plainly apparent, however, that her apathy was forced. "Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville will be there as well."

Daphne opened her mouth immediately to protest, but she paused before she could say anything and looked from person to person instead. Eventually she closed her eyes and nodded, knowing this would be the best she could hope for, under the circumstances. What Ron had said was true: she had never really spoken to any of them directly; or, if she had, it was too seldom or too long ago to stand out in memory.

"Fine. Now would be good. Where?" she asked.

Harry glanced around her at the Slytherin table. Most of them were unabashedly watching this exchange, with varying degrees of anger or open curiosity.

"You realize you'll have problems with your House if you're seen leaving the Hall with us, right?" he wondered.

"I've always had problems with my House. This will be no different."

"Fine," Harry agreed, not really caring about the consequences for Daphne. She'd had plenty of opportunity to stand down. "Follow us," he told her, standing. "We will do this in the Room of Requirement to ensure privacy."

He looped his arm through Hermione's as they made their way from the Hall, accompanied by much muttering and pointing from the student population; Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Neville were behind Daphne in the procession. Harry looked at Slytherin again and he noticed that Malfoy's face was buried in the Prophet; he appeared oblivious to everything else that was happening.

The silence lasted all the way to the Room. The echoes of their footsteps off the walls and floors were the only noises during the entire journey. Outside the room, Harry paced three times, asking for something suitable for a business meeting. The door appeared and he opened it, seeing about what he had expected: a small, medieval conference room with a low stone table and comfortable chairs. There was a fake window that appeared to look out on the Forest of Dean.

Once everyone was seated—Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Ron were on one side of the table, and Daphne, Neville, and Ginny were on the other—Harry motioned with his hand for the Slytherin to start speaking. The confidence she had possessed in the Great Hall had slipped from features and now she just looked weary and agitated, though no less strikingly beautiful. Most of the males at Hogwarts had quietly admired her from afar for a long time, and they knew that was as far as it would ever go, considering her reputation. Harry could admit to her beauty, but Hermione was and would always be the only one for him; in her own way, she was just as beautiful, if not as couture, as Daphne.

The Slytherin sat ramrod straight in her chair and folded her hands in her lap, ever the image of decorum.

"Is it all true?" she asked. "Everything in _The Prophet_?"

Harry shrugged. "I only had time to read the front page. _That_ article was in fact completely accurate, surprising because of the source, really."

Daphne nodded absently, looking to the side for a moment. Harry had time to make eye contact with the other five; they were all as mystified as he was.

"Granger…Hermione…if I may, what did you mean by 'Switzerland'?" she asked, a sudden vulnerability tangible in her voice. The atmosphere in the room changed with her tone.

"Switzerland has remained neutral through practically all of the world's conflicts since it became a nation," Hermione explained. "The Greengrass family is known for the same, at least as much as it applies to the microcosm of Magical Britain."

Ron mouthed one word at Luna, with an implied question at the end: "Microcosm?"

She merely patted Ron's hand and shook her head, albeit she was smiling. Ron stared at Hermione, as he often did, like she had four heads.

"I thought so," Daphne replied; then she sighed, and the fight seemed to go out of her body. She allowed herself to sag in her seat, and she rubbed her face tiredly. Harry didn't think anyone currently attending Hogwarts, with the possible exception of the younger Greengrass, had seen Daphne so emotionally open.

"What is this really about, Gree—Daphne?" Harry asked, softly, using her given name instead. It didn't seem like they needed to be on their guard, at least for the duration of this meeting. The tenor of the whole thing had shifted completely around in the last two minutes.

"It's about Voldemort," she said, without any flinching or fear in her voice—just resignation instead.

Harry glanced at Hermione. He could see her furiously trying to puzzle everything out.

"Go on…" he urged.

Daphne finally met Harry's eyes head on with her own. "Look, the last time Voldemort rose to power, he left most of the neutral pureblood families alone, as long as they didn't speak out against him and the Death Eaters _and_ as long as they paid some kind of monetary tribute.

"It's been clear to any of us involved in pureblood politics that Voldemort has been back since you claimed he was at the end of last year. The old Death Eaters, like _Lucius_," she said, nearly spitting the name, "immediately made plays for power at the Ministry in the world of pureblood finance as soon as their master was back. The fact that the Ministry ignored you and Dumbledore for so long was at first due to their own denial and incompetence, but gradually that became policy because the wealthy Death Eaters willed it. I would be willing to bet a fair number of galleons there is a marked Death Eater in some kind of position of power in most of the departments at the Ministry, and Fudge is as good as one with how little backbone that man has.

"Anyway, _this_ time Voldemort is not content to let us ignore him or pay our way out of declaring sides. My father and mother have done their utmost so far to make sure Astoria and I don't get involved in any of this, but the last letter they wrote me implied that _something_ would be changing drastically soon, or we would all be killed."

She finally stopped talking and, breaking eye contact with Harry, quickly looked to other five. Hermione was visibly processing the dialogue; Ginny looked pissed; Neville had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring at the ceiling; Luna had assumed her dreamy gaze; and Ron's jaw was hanging open in astonishment.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at her impassively. Only the firm line of his jaw gave away the fact that he was thinking over everything she'd said, very carefully.

"I have two questions for you," he said, after an interminable silence. The tension in the room had reached unbearable levels. "Why don't you leave the country?"

Daphne raised a querulous, pencil-thin blond eyebrow at him. "Why don't you? Or any other neutral or anti-Voldemort magicals?"

Harry nodded once, conceding the point. "Why are you telling _me_ all of this? You hardly know me, and the relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin are not exactly friendly."

"I'm telling you because you're the Boy-Who-Lived," she said, hoping for and getting a visible reaction from everyone. "You just beat Voldemort in front of the press and half the Ministry, and I know it wasn't intentional, but that was a power play if I've ever seen one. If I want to save my family, I think you're the best hope I have," she said. Then she added, quietly:

"I've actually thought that for several years now."

"So you're using Harry to get the protection you need?" Hermione asked, interjecting herself into the conservation. She was pissed the Frosty Cunt thought she could appeal to Harry's nobility and selflessness and get what she wanted. "Neville is a pureblood and he's not asking for protection," Hermione continued. "So are the Weasleys, and they're all what Voldemort fondly calls blood traitors. The Longbottoms and the Weasleys have always stood against what Voldemort represents, and you don't see them or other families like them coming to Harry asking for protection."

Daphne was trying to control her irritation. It would help nothing to lash out at Hermione, especially considering the obvious signs of a budding relationship between her and Harry. There would be no faster way to end this conversation than to insult his new girlfriend; and besides, Hermione couldn't help it if, as a Muggleborn, she didn't know pureblood customs.

"Longbottom Manor, as the main property of a Most Noble and Ancient House, is protected by a series of ancient wards and curses that even Voldemort would have a hard time breaching without losing a significant number of Death Eaters," Daphne explained, doing her best to keep her cutting annoyance out of her voice. "And the Weasleys have long been associated with Dumbledore, which means they have similar though not as comprehensive or ancient protections."

"Most Noble and Ancient House?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry and Neville. "Like the House of Black? What does that even mean anyway?"

Daphne started to speak, but Neville waved her off; he directed a curious glance at Hermione. "I'm surprised with how much you read about the Wizarding world you don't know, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes. "_Forgive_ me if as a Muggleborn the archaic ways of magical aristocracy in Britain do not interest me," she said.

"Know thy enemy…" Neville returned. Hermione just stared at him. "Anyway, the Most Noble and Ancient Houses are the oldest families in the Wizarding world, predating Hogwarts even. And they do not have to be pureblood," Neville explained, "like House Potter, for instance."

"What?" Harry cut in. "My family is one of them?"

Now Daphne, Neville, Luna, Ginny, and Ron were all looking at him as if _he'd_ grown four heads. Hermione was the only one that was as surprised as Harry by this revelation.

"You mean to tell me you didn't know you are the heir apparent to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, which, by the way, is probably the oldest and wealthiest of all of them?" Daphne questioned, incredulously.

Harry was pissed. Here was another thing he would have to _mention_ to Dumbledore. Not only had he been entirely ignorant of the magical world until he was eleven, but in all of his time at Hogwarts no one had ever bothered to tell him this: not Dumbledore, not any of the Weasleys, not Neville, and not anyone else who might have known; which, according to this conversation, was likely every pureblood or half blood in the school.

"Obviously not," he grated out. He could feel his magic yearning to be free. He clamped his iron will down upon it.

"But…but what about all those stories they always tell," Daphne asked, still unable to believe it. "That you were raised a prince of Gryffindor and had everything you ever wanted and…" she said, but trailed off when she noticed the murderous rage in Harry's and Hermione's eyes. Daphne had only feared for her life on a few occasions, and this was suddenly one of them.

"Who is 'they'?" Harry asked, the fury in his voice dropping it a register.

Hermione reached for his hand, and in an amazing display of empathy, Daphne watched as that simple action diffused the ticking time bomb that was Harry Potter.

"It's not important, Harry."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "You're right. You're always right." He focused on Daphne. "I did not know about magic until my eleventh birthday. I grew up with Muggles who despised magic and tried to beat it out of me, and, when that didn't work, starve it out of me. My bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs until I received my Hogwarts letter and I didn't know my name until I went to primary school when I was five. My aunt and uncle just called me 'freak.' And when I came to Hogwarts none of my _friends_ felt the need to ever tell me about my family or its legacy or what that really meant." He turned toward the others at the table, fury once again radiating briefly across his face.

"Thought you knew," Ron said, immediately.

"You were _there_ that summer, Ron!" Harry shouted. His magic was slipping free again, pushing against everyone in the room. "You had to break me out of that great big bloody cage they locked me in. And you thought I _knew_?" he asked. "What about my clothes, or my general cluelessness, or the fact that I grew up with the Dursleys? You knew all of that!"

Ron was looking more and more cowed; luckily for him, Ginny wasn't so easily flustered.

"We thought you knew, Harry," she placated. "And we knew all those things and didn't say anything because we figured you were waiting until you were of age to claim your inheritance, since you have to anyway."

Neville cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him. "That's not really true," he said. "The last heirs to Most Noble and Ancient Houses can claim their inheritance as soon as there is no Lord or proxy in place, which is why _I_ am still scion Longbottom and not Lord Longbottom. My grandmother is the Longbottom proxy until I turn seventeen."

"Why did _you_ never say anything, Neville," Hermione asked, still trying to calm Harry down. He was beyond words at the moment. His world had just radically shifted.

Neville shook his head once. "It's not my place. Old families, _especially_ the oldest like House Potter and House Longbottom, do not interfere in each other's affairs. Longbottom and Potter have always been aligned, but it was never up to me to say anything to Harry about that alliance or his inheritance. It's considered practically a mortal breach of etiquette, which I've now done."

Harry stared at Neville. "I would have done it for you, Nev," he said, the hurt plainly apparent in his voice. Neville flinched slightly but did not back down.

"You don't understand, Harry, you weren't—"

"I WOULD HAVE DONE IT FOR ANY OF MY FRIENDS!" Harry shouted, bracing himself against the table. There was an earth-shatteringly loud _ping_ as his magic rushed out from body, quickly enveloping half the castle in its raging storm. The six other people in the Room were mostly unaffected, though, as Harry attempted to control himself and push everything _far away_.

Neville was standing now, looking equally as furious as Harry. If the situation weren't so arse backward, Hermione and the rest would have marveled to see such strong emotion on the face of the normally stoic boy.

"YOU WEREN'T RAISED LIKE I WAS, HARRY," he shouted right back. "YOU DIDN'T HAVE PUREBLOOD AND NOBLE AND ANCIENT CUSTOMS SHOVED DOWN YOUR THROAT FOR HOURS EVERY DAY. YOU WEREN'T RAISED WITH THE CRUSHING EXPECTATIONS OF YOUR GRANDMOTHER AND YOUR AUNTS AND UNCLES, AND THEN THE AWFUL DISAPPOINTMENT THEY FELT WHEN THEY THOUGHT I WAS A SQUIB."

"You're right," Harry said, quieter now, though still louder than normal. "I wasn't raised like that. Instead, I was raised to believe I was the worthless spawn of two drunks, that I wasn't worth the food they weren't even feeding me, that I didn't deserve love or friendship or happiness; and all of that because the Wizarding world _I'm supposed to fucking save_ couldn't even bother to check up on its Savior from time to time? Why is that? Why should I fucking care at all about any of this?"

The constant, almost suffocating presence of Harry's magic was the only sensation in the Room for several moments.

"Because you do, Harry," Luna started. "Because you can't _not_ care. You don't have it in you to be callous or apathetic, not after what Voldemort has put you through; not after what he did to your parents and your friends. You may be the Chosen One of the prophecy, but you would still be on the front lines fighting against him even if you weren't. It's who you are."

Soon everyone except Harry was nodding along with Luna; Hermione finally got him to relax a little and Neville retook his seat. Harry clenched his fists momentarily, that all-encompassing rage passing over his features, but it was no longer directed at anyone in the Room. He let out a harsh sigh and sat back.

"Look, I'm sorry Nev," Harry said, his voice still strained. "But I am a little upset at all of you who knew about this, and we do still need to talk about it in a more civilized manner at some point in the near future. For now, though," he continued, turning to Daphne, "why did you bring up the status of House Longbottom?"

Daphne had quietly absorbed the drama that had unfolded before her. Harry Potter had already been an enigma, but now he was even more of one. She shook her head. She would have time to parse everything later.

"The Greengrass name is neither old nor extremely wealthy, so it is neither Ancient nor Noble. We have been Purebloods for generations, and neutral ones at that, but we do not enjoy the protections of Longbottom Manor or someone like the Weasleys who are aligned closely with Dumbledore," she explained. "That is why I'm here, and that is why I wanted to talk to you. You can offer my family protection, though you not knowing your heritage complicates matters."

"Any why should I?" Harry asked, leaning forward and staring deeply into her eyes. "Why should I offer you this 'protection' if you're going to remain neutral in all of this?"

Daphne Greengrass, the icy bitch of Slytherin, smiled at Harry. It was such a remarkable change in her features that he was forced to sit back.

"Because we wouldn't be neutral anymore," she said, finally arriving at the point of all this. "With the protection of the Boy-Who-Lived, coincidentally the heir apparent to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, the Greengrass family could finally declare sides in this stupid war. You would gain a powerful ally."

"Powerful?" Neville asked, an uncharacteristic sneer in his voice. "Are you sure about that?"

"Think about it, Longbottom," Daphne responded, leaning forward. "If the Greengrasses were to align themselves with Harry and the rest of the anti-Voldemort campaign—we who have been known for our neutrality for at least two hundred years—what are the other neutral families going to do, especially with Voldemort pressuring them so heavily?" It was a rhetorical question, and they all knew it.

"They'll join Harry, too," she finished, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Doesn't that make the lot of you mercenaries, to some extent?" Hermione asked, a skeptical eyebrow lifted toward her hair.

Daphne shrugged. "Maybe, but we wouldn't be traitors, and we're not culpable for the beliefs Voldemort espouses. We never had a side in the first place."

Hermione started to say something else, but Harry cut her off with a hand over hers. Daphne was amazed. As far as she knew, Harry Potter was the only person that could stop Hermione Granger from saying what was on her mind.

"I know what you're going to say, Hermione, but don't bother. This isn't the place to discuss _culpability_ where Voldemort and blood supremacy are concerned," he said. Even Hermione looked surprised at his somewhat articulate rejoinder. Harry paid no attention.

"Why me? And why now?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't you be bringing this type of thing to Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore is a figurehead, Harry," Daphne replied. "He is an extremely powerful wizard and has an incredible amount of political power too, but _you_ are the one who will be on the ground deciding the outcome of this war. Dumbledore is merely a tool in your arsenal."

"I can only imagine how the Headmaster would respond to that," Ron put in, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Daphne nodded. "And that's exactly my point. He would twinkle away at me and maybe in two or six months he would think about doing something for my family, but by then it will be too late. He's too _big picture_ for his own good."

Harry ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, briefly fully exposing his scar for her to glimpse.

"You're right," he sighed. He wanted to say so much more, especially about the status of his family, but he decided that would be a conversation he would be having with the Headmaster instead, and in the very near future. So many things about his life did not add up correctly, and Harry was just beginning to think the Headmaster would have many of the answers. His earlier outburst at his friends notwithstanding, he wasn't too angry at them anymore. From his perspective, this did seem to go a _little_ above their heads.

"So what now, love?" Hermione asked. Harry's head snapped to her. It was the first time she had ever used any kind of pet name for him. Despite the stress of the situation, he couldn't help but smile at her. His eyes then trailed over his other four close friends.

"This is not something I'll decide myself," Harry started, glancing at Daphne. "Dumbledore has done that for years, thinking only he knows what's in everyone's best interests. So I'm going to start a new policy, right now, that will carry through the rest of the war and hopefully beyond. We _all_ make big decisions like this, _together_," he finished. Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Hermione were all sitting a little straighter by the end of his speech. It seemed that he truly was taking up the mantle of the Chosen One, though quietly and tucked away in the Room of Requirement with only six witnesses.

Harry stared at Daphne for several long seconds; she bore his gaze easily.

"I'm in favor of this," Harry stated. "We're going to need all the help we can get, and if the Greengrasses can bring over the other neutral families too, that's going to be a serious blow to Voldemort—financially, politically, and for morale as well."

"I agree," Hermione said. She was leaning into Harry now, taking comfort from his presence. It was amazing to her he could accept this responsibility so easily, but, then again, he wouldn't be Harry Potter if he couldn't.

"As do I," Neville added.

Ron and Ginny only had to look at each other for half a second. "You know what I think of Slytherin generally," Ron said, "but this makes too much sense to say no. Ginny and I will make sure the rest of our family is with it too."

Luna smiled slowly. "I've wanted to talk to Astoria for ages anyway."

Six sets of eyes stared at the blond Ravenclaw. She started humming to herself.

"I have one final question, Daphne," Harry said, turning back to her. "Do your parents know about this?"

"Not explicitly, no…but they have hinted this is the direction they wish me to take. Honestly, Harry, my sister and I wouldn't last the summer if you said no. We'd be killed, or raped and killed, and my mother would be too. Who knows what would happen to my father. Your defeat of Voldemort at the Ministry only accelerated his annoyance with all the neutral families."

Daphne's blunt, unfeeling description of what would happen to her should the Boy-Who-Lived not offer his protection took everyone by surprise, though Harry knew they shouldn't be shocked. It was how Voldemort operated, after all.

"Then I accept," Harry said, stretching his hand across the table. Daphne placed her cool, slender fingers in his and they shook. "What do I need to do?"

The Slytherin, given new purpose, sat up straighter again and looked around the room. So much had been decided here already that would undoubtedly greatly affect the coming war, and by schoolchildren.

"You need to claim your inheritance," she told him. "You can then make the Greengrasses vassals of the Lord Potter and offer us the protection of your family's ancient magic."

"…and how exactly does one do that?"

"Gringotts," she replied.

"I see," Harry mused, nodding his head. He looked around at everyone again. "Anyone fancy a jaunt to Diagon Alley?"

"You want to do this right now?" Hermione wondered, not condemning the action, but curious about his urgency.

"Why not? It's been kept from me for so long already. Seems like it will do a lot of good when I have it…so why not?"

Hermione nodded, agreeing with his reasons. The other four nodded too.

"Uh, just one problem," Daphne mentioned. "How are we getting there?"

Harry laughed, though it was short-lived. His ensuing grin was feral. "Just leave that up to me."


	8. Insurrection

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. I wanted to let the story speak for itself, but unfortunately I've received some rather inflammatory and belligerent private messages over the past few days, which makes me question if I even want to continue writing this in the long run. One of my reviewers, praising the story, said it "walks the fine line between parody and cliché," and I think that is a fairly accurate representation of all decent HP fanfiction today. With so much out there, it can be difficult to write something truly original, especially if you want to work within the rather established genre of Harry/Hermione _without_ succumbing to the Affair!Fic or time travel. All of that said, I _do_ realize the overall arc of my story has been done before, but I hope to throw in a few twists of my own as well as focusing a little more on character than pure, kinetic plot. What you _will not_ see in this story is the following: Harry/harem because I believe it to be the most futile kind of male wish fulfillment; Weasley bashing; or a Dumbledore as bad or worse than Voldemort. If you want to read stories in which these things occur, there are plenty out there. Or, better yet, write your own! Do not demand I write my story a certain way.

**Chapter 8: Insurrection**

As lunch approached, Dumbledore found himself buried under a mountain of end-of-term paperwork. After reassuming the position of Headmaster, everything Umbridge _hadn't_ been doing all year suddenly fell into his lap. He sighed a bit wearily as he filled out yet another expense allocation form sent by the Head Elf; this one, however, was from February. Truthfully, he was a little worried about the solvency of the school's finances, since no one had been keeping track of them for many months.

He still had not gone after the former Headmistress, and frankly the deluge of administrative responsibilities that had fallen upon him again made him less and less likely to bother. She had ruled the school with an iron, torturous fist, something Harry had loudly pointed out to him; yet she had, at the same time, let the school decay in less tangible ways that he would have to set to rights. He knew he should find her, because he knew the Centaurs would likely not _kill_ her, but she would be a shell of a human—or less than the shell she had already been—when they eventually deposited her at the edge of the Forest.

His Floo sputtered to life just then; sitting in the green flames was the head of Amelia Bones, Director of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.

"Albus?"

"Yes, Amelia?" he asked, looking over at the Floo. His glasses had slipped so far down his crooked nose they were in danger of falling off.

Her eyes settled on the stacks of parchment covering his entire desk. She blinked and looked at him, adjusting her monocle to better focus on the Headmaster.

"I hate to ask this of you at what is obviously such a busy time, but could spare an hour or so for a meeting in the War Room?"

"War Room?" he repeated. "The usual crowd?"

She nodded. "This is an all-hands-on-deck meeting. Yesterday's fiasco and this past year are on the docket. I'm sure what's discussed today will be a precursor to a full session of the Wizengamot in a few days."

"Very well," he said, actually glad to be away from the drudgery of his administrative duties for a short time. "Now?"

She nodded again. "You can Floo directly into the War Room."

He inclined his head toward her. "Thank you, Amelia. I will see you shortly." Her head disappeared and the flames died.

Rolling his neck and standing, he grabbed his wand from his desk, made sure his robes were covering everything they were supposed to, and walked over to the Floo.

"Ministry War Room," he called, throwing some powder in. The green flames roared back to life, he stepped in, and was twirling away through the Floo network. After about thirty seconds, the swirling slowed down and he made a clean exit into the War Room. After Cleansing and Straightening charms to fix his appearance, he moved aside and looked around.

The War Room, as it was both officially and colloquially known, was essentially a large meeting room just down the hall from the Minister's office. It was fairly modern for Wizarding standards, and it was only used when the upper echelons of the government needed to meet.

Dumbledore found he was likely the last to arrive. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic was there; Amelia Bones and her Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour, were there; Percival Weasley, the new Undersecretary to the Minister was there, simpering as usual; Arthur Weasley, Director of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department was there; Croaker, Head Unspeakable, was there; Mafalda Hopkirk, Director of the Improper and Underage Magic department was there. In fact, though Dumbledore didn't immediately recognize many of them, it seemed as if all department heads and other persons of import were in attendance.

"Albus," Amelia said, motioning with her hand toward the empty chair on Fudge's right. He acknowledged her and others and made his way to the chair. As soon as he sat, Amelia cleared her throat.

"Good," she said. "We can begin. I'm sure I do not have to say why we called this meeting on such short notice. The events of yesterday as well as what occurred at Hogwarts for the past year weigh heavily on our minds and the minds of our citizens." She stared at Fudge as she said this, who looked rather put-upon, in Dumbledore's not-so-humble opinion. If the Headmaster had his way, Fudge would be immediately sacked and a suitable replacement found. He might even be able to push something like that through the Wizengamot, but for now he'd listen to what everyone had to say.

"Yes, Amelia, thank you," Fudge said, nearly stuttering in his anxiety. "With the return of You-Know-Who yesterday—"

"_Voldemort_," Dumbledore broke in, "or, if you prefer, Thomas Riddle." He ignored the predictable flinches and moans. "And I feel that I must correct you, Cornelius. Voldemort did not return _yesterday_. He returned nearly one year ago to the day."

If anything, the Minister's face reddened even more. "The first proof we had of his return was yesterday when he stormed the Ministry!" Fudge exclaimed. "I don't want to discuss the half-truths you and the Potter boy have been spouting all year long!"

Was Fudge really this stupid? Dumbledore wondered how the man had ever made it to Minister in the first place.

"Half-truths, Minister?" Dumbledore asked, his voice dropping and turning deadly. Those who knew him well in the room shifted uncomfortably; the Headmaster was a truly formidable wizard, and though he normally carefully hid it behind an eccentric persona, the change in the atmosphere was because that mask was slipping.

"There was nothing at all untruthful about Mr. Potter's recollection of the graveyard resurrection at the end of the last academic year. He was tortured and used in a ritual to make Voldemort corporeal once again; _then_, he dueled Voldemort to a draw _and_ escaped with enough decency still in his mind to bring back the body of his fallen classmate. _Before_ you start speaking about half-truths and disparage Mr. Potter in any way, you would do well to remember that he has stood against Voldemort more times than any in this room, myself included, and lived to tell about it."

Dumbledore couldn't stop his defense of Harry from rolling off his lips. The past year he had let Harry and the rest of the school down in monumental ways—that he couldn't even properly describe—and he wasn't going to sit here and listen to the Minister for Magic belittle everything Harry had experienced. Some of his motivation was the crushing guilt he felt, but the rest was his duty to his students and to Hogwarts that he would not shirk anymore. It was the first in a long line of actions that would hopefully rebuild some trust between Harry and him.

"I agree with Chief Warlock Dumbledore," Arthur Weasley said, to the astonishment of several at the table who had never heard the timid man speak in a meeting like this. "The issue is no longer when or why or how Voldemort returned, but instead why and how the Ministry ignored it for so long and what we can do to remedy the situation."

Eyebrows rose en masse at his eloquent statement.

"Director Weasley," Percy started, in a pinched voice, "your opinion is—"

"Shut up, Percy," Amelia overrode him. All heads swiveled to look at her. Percy sat there with his mouth agape. "You do not have permission to speak here. In fact, the only reason you are here is because the Minister wanted you here. So sit there and be quiet."

"I will not have you speak to my Undersecretary in such a manner!" Fudge nearly shouted. Amelia stared him down.

"Cornelius, if you value what is likely to be the very short remainder of your tenure as Minister, I would suggest you shut up and listen too."

Fudge gaped at her, much like Percy still did.

"Are you threatening me, Director Bones?" Fudge squeaked out.

Amelia waved her hand. Dumbledore carefully hid a smile at this exchange. "I have no need of threats. Once the facts become clear to all of us, I believe the _only_ course of action will be to have the Wizengamot start a motion to remove you from office."

All present at the meeting were now looking back and forth between Amelia and Fudge. The expressions ranged from gleeful, to annoyed, to calculating. Dumbledore had a sudden epiphany: how many at this meeting were marked Death Eaters?

Fudge stood abruptly from his chair. "Come on, Percival. We are leaving. The position of Minister demands more respect than we are being shown."

"Sit down, Cornelius," Amelia told him, an icy edge to her voice. Once again the atmosphere was rapidly shifting toward uncomfortable.

Fudge ignored her and pulled the still-stunned Percy from his chair. He only moved one step away before Dumbledore acted.

In a smooth, quick motion which belied his age, he drew his wand and stood, pointing it at the Minister. Before Fudge could even react, Dumbledore had him under a mild incarceration spell and stuck to his seat. He did the same to Percy for good measure.

Fudge sputtered incoherently in his rage at being treated in such a way. People were now looking at Dumbledore with shock plainly written on their faces.

"Thank you, Albus," Amelia said. He sat down again. She focused on the Minister, who was apoplectic. "You think you, as the Minister for Magic, deserve more respect than we are willing to give you today? Why is that, Cornelius? You have treated neither this Ministry nor your position with the respect it deserved for some time now, but we as a whole were willing to overlook that, though we should not have. However, during this past year, you really went beyond the pale.

"Beginning with that farce of a trial for Mr. Potter, you have continually and habitually abused your power and station, more so than you ever did in the past. You allowed your lackey Umbridge to wildly abuse her position at Hogwarts. Your actions fostered a climate of fear and hatred the likes of which our society has not seen since the middle of the First War with Voldemort. We are in our positions to _protect_ our citizens, Minister Fudge, and as I see it, you have failed this tenet of the Ministry so completely you should be thankful I do not have my Aurors arrest you on the spot for graft, obstruction, abuse of power, aiding and abetting a likely criminal in Umbridge, and a host of other charges.

"The only reason I don't do this and force Veritaserum down your throat is because I would be abusing _my_ power, and I am no hypocrite. I will, however, give you a chance to explain yourself in a reasonable manner before I ask the Chief Warlock to move for your termination at the next session of the Wizengamot."

Overwhelming silence filled the War Room after Amelia's speech. Many hardly knew what to think; they hadn't come to this meeting expecting an all-out barrage of rhetoric to be levied at the Minister.

Dumbledore was one of the few in the room that was truly happy. He could have tried to force through a motion similar to what Amelia had just described, but with her suddenly making up her mind to be completely anti-Fudge, he now had her support, which was a good thing as far as the Ministry was concerned. She was typically one of the fairest and most unbiased persons at the Ministry, so for those _not_ in the know, they figured she must have compelling reasons to lay it on the Minister like this. Already opinion in the room was subtly shifting against Fudge.

Fudge appeared positively murderous, so much so that he could not even speak. Dumbledore surreptitiously made sure he hadn't accidentally silenced the Minister.

Someone cleared his throat. Amelia's imperious gaze bore down on him.

"Yes, Yaxley?" she asked.

Now Dumbledore recognized him. This Yaxley had replaced Ludo Bagman as the Director of Magical Sports and Games. He was built like a bull dog, and his pug face was ugly enough to fit the comparison.

"Is this not all most unwise?" he asked, opening his arms in a supplicating gesture. "There are policies and procedures in place for discussions such as these. Simply blindsiding the Minister with these accusations and stating as fact things we only know as conjecture is the kind of bias the procedures exist to protect against."

"Conjecture?" Head Auror Scrimgeour asked, disbelief strongly evident.

"No one can deny the return of the Dark Lord, not after yesterday," Yaxley placated, turning to look at the leonine Auror. "But I do think if we are to look at the issue properly, we must separate it from the rest of the events of the past year," he said.

Alarms were ringing in Dumbledore's head. From his discussions with Snape over the years, he knew only Death Eaters called Voldemort the Dark Lord. He was tempted to try some surface Legilimency on Yaxley, but wisely held back. Everyone in this room, with the exception of Percy, was likely a skilled Occlumens. It came with the nature of these positions.

"And if those events are inextricably linked?" Dumbledore asked, making Yaxley focus on him. The look of disgust and hatred that quickly passed through the other man's eyes did not go unnoticed by the sharp Headmaster. "As I see it, the corruption, the abuse of Hogwarts, and the willful suppression of the return of Voldemort are a direct result of the split between me and Fudge at the end of the last academic year. I would happily submit my memory of our _delightful_ conversation in the Hogwarts Infirmary for all to see."

"This is not a trial, Dumbledore," Yaxley returned, silkily, "though many of you seem determined to make it into one. As I said there are policies and procedures we _must_ follow as representatives of our citizens—"

"That's rich, coming from you," someone else said, a woman Dumbledore couldn't place. "What have _you _done to 'represent' the citizens over the past year in your new position?"

"I could ask the same of you, Bentley," Yaxley snarled, quite viciously. The light bulb of recognition went off in Dumbledore's head: Anna Bentley, Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"Enough of this!" Amelia exclaimed. "Petty squabbling and empty grandstanding will not take over this meeting! Cornelius, do you have anything to say for yourself, or are you just going to sit there?"

Dumbledore watched as the Minister took a deep breath and collected himself. Finally, the man's political sensibilities were returning to him, though it certainly took long enough.

"I do not have to respond to informal inquiries such as these. I politely deny your request for information, and if you see fit to bring this matter to the Wizengamot, I cannot stop you. However, I _will_ make the highly unorthodox and borderline unethical nature of this meeting known to the chamber at such a time."

Amelia seemed oddly pleased with Fudge's response. She nearly smirked at the Minister when she nodded at his words, which to someone like Dumbledore who knew her should have been more frightening to the Minister than her cold glare. He was distracted by Yaxley at that moment, though; something about the look in the man's eyes as he considered Director Bones raised Dumbledore's hackles…

Everything happened very quickly after that. Yaxley appeared to go for his wand, intent on doing _what_ no one knew, but Dumbledore was ready for it. The Headmaster focused for an infinitesimal moment and unleashed his magic; he cast a wide-field incapacitation curse just as Yaxley started to stand and draw his wand.

The effect was instantaneous: everyone in the room except Dumbledore was immobilized by the variant of the _Petrificus totalus_. Shocked and, in some cases, fearful eyes turned to the Headmaster, since that was the only part of their bodies they could move. Amelia's eyes were flat and emotionless.

Dumbledore stood, looking around at everyone. He hated to do things like this, because he preferred to use persuasion rather than force, but Yaxley had been about to do something monumentally stupid and likely hurtful to the side of the Light. Amelia was a well-known and well-respected possible successor to Fudge, _and_ she was someone who could not be controlled by the rampant corruption. Yaxley's intent to at least harm her, combined with his use of 'the Dark Lord,' told Dumbledore all he needed to know.

Dumbledore slowly rolled up the sleeves of his robes to his elbows. He held out the unmarked insides of his forearms for all to see.

"I hate to use my own magical power and the mandates of my position as Chief Warlock to do this, but it is well past time we purge this room of its infection. As you can see, I am not a Death Eater," he said, chuckling at the last bit. Really, the idea was preposterous.

He turned serious. "As Chief Warlock, I can remand into temporary custody any high ranking member of the government of whom I am more than reasonably suspicious is seditious. Being a marked Death Eater is well more than the necessary suspicion," he finished. Panic was now setting into the eyes of several around the table. He watched as a few tried to fight against his spell.

He smiled condescendingly at them, reinforcing his spell to be on the safe side. "Do not fight the spell," he said. "None of you has any chance of breaking it."

He started with Amelia Bones. He gently brought her arms onto the table with his magic and rolled up her sleeves with a flick of his wand. The insides of her forearms were, expectedly, unmarked. He made eye contact with her and nodded. He continued around the table from there. The closer and closer he came to Yaxley, the more the man was futilely struggling against the magic that bound him. His eyes nearly bulged from his head when Dumbledore placed his arms on the table and rolled up his sleeves.

There, in all of its dark glory, was the hateful _Morsmordre_.

Dumbledore felt true fury rise up in him for the first time in many years. He always carefully controlled his emotions, because someone of his magical power could not let them control him, but to blatantly see the Dark Mark in this elite group was more frustrating than he had believed. The Ministry of Magic was a cesspool, and here was the proof.

"_Stupefy_," Dumbledore said, watching with some satisfaction as the Stunner impacted Yaxley in the face. The Death Eater slumped in his chair, with Dumbledore's previous charm broken by the new magic.

"Now I think you all see why this is necessary," he said, quietly, looking around and meeting everyone's eyes.

He continued around the table, systematically and methodically exposing everyone's forearms. Augustus Rookwood, the Deputy Unspeakable under Croaker, was the next to be revealed as a Death Eater. Dumbledore stunned him as well. Croaker looked on with rage burning in his eyes at the breach in his Department's security.

Finally, there were only two people left. Pius Thicknesse, the Director of the Department for Finance, and Minister Fudge himself. From the look of resignation in Thicknesse's eyes, Dumbledore was not surprised when his arm revealed him to be a Death Eater as well. Before Dumbledore Stunned him, he looked more ashamed than anything else. The red spell flew across the table.

It was far too late for remorse.

All eyes were on Fudge, who resolutely refused to look at anyone. The Minister was staring at the surface of the table. Dumbledore didn't think the Minister would be a marked Death Eater—Fudge didn't have enough gumption to stand for anything, let alone deal with the violent whims of Voldemort—but the way the Minister was acting _was_ strange.

Dumbledore placed Fudge's arms on the table and rolled back his sleeves. He nearly recoiled at what was plainly evident on the Minister's skin: the Dark Mark of Voldemort.

Fudge finally met his eyes. Dumbledore saw with some disgust the man was tearing up. He raised his wand and Stunned the Minister.

The climate of the room had rapidly shifted from tension to incredible disbelief. Dumbledore finally released his incapacitation spell.

"Arrest these scum, Scrimgeour!" Amelia shouted, standing and pacing around the room to Fudge. Dumbledore thought she might actually hit the unconscious Minister, but she merely stood there and glared at him. Percy, sitting next to the Minister, looked to be utterly gob smacked. Dumbledore was sure he would be reevaluating his ideals in the coming days.

There was much talking and shouting going on in the War Room as Scrimgeour had the four Death Eaters hauled away, and someone was crying too. This would rock the Wizarding world when it came out, and the Headmaster hoped it did not cripple the government. Its chief executive officer was marked by the number one enemy of the state.

Dumbledore considered the battle in the Atrium. He now wondered if Voldemort had been trying to kill Fudge, or if it had been a stray Killing Curse. Perhaps it was Voldemort's penalty for failure, though precisely what Fudge may have failed doing would only become clear when he was questioned under the effects of Veritaserum.

"Albus," Amelia said, rousing him from his thoughts. He turned to her. "I think you need to call an emergency mandatory session of the Wizegamot for eight tomorrow morning." There was an undercurrent of shock in her voice.

He nodded. "I will do that."

She hesitated, then placed a hand lightly on his arm. "Thank you, for doing that…"

"It is time we do what is right, not what is easy," he replied. She merely looked at him for several moments. The commotion still occurring in the War Room around them passed unnoticed.

"This could bring down everything, you know," she stated, eventually, sounding uncharacteristically raw.

He nodded. "Which I why I am going to nominate you to replace him," he answered. "We need someone who can stand strong against the forces that seek to corrupt this government."

She nodded slowly, obviously having expected his words.

"You should probably make sure word of this does not reach the press until tomorrow," Dumbledore advised. She nodded again, turning to Scrimgeour and telling him to keep everyone in the War Room until instructions could be disseminated.

"Do you need me here anymore, Amelia?"

"No, but will you be available?"

"Floo me at Hogwarts," Dumbledore responded, nodding. "I have some unfinished business I need to attend to."

"Very well. Take care, Albus."

"You as well," he said, nodding one more time and walking over to the fireplace. His thoughts turned toward Umbridge and what she likely harbored on _her_ forearm. His jaw clenched at the knowledge that a probable Death Eater had been Headmistress of his school for the better part of the past year, due in no small part to his inaction and his inability to trust others with information he had thought only he could handle. Today had so far proved quite humbling, something Dumbledore did not often experience. He now had a burning desire to find Umbridge and ascertain exactly what she had done in his absence.

Perhaps it was best for her if the Centaurs had actually killed her.


	9. Solidarity

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. I should clarify: I respect and appreciate constructive criticism. My previous note was a response to some _uncouth_ demands I received about this story via private messages. I treasure your feedback, positive or negative.

**Chapter 9: Solidarity**

Sirius and Remus were eating lunch in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Both men, though good-looking and still young for wizards, appeared rather haggard and careworn. Remus's shaggy brown hair was flecked with gray and Sirius's face was thin with sunken hollows beneath his eyes. So far lunch had progressed silently, each man consumed by his own thoughts. The events of the past few days—and the past fifteen years—weighed heavily on their minds.

"What do you think of the prophecy?" Remus suddenly asked, halfway through his simple meal of fish and chips. He and Sirius weren't the most profound cooks.

Sirius paused, a bite of food halfway to his mouth. His eyes slid to his friend and they considered each other for a long moment.

"Do I believe in it?" Sirius questioned. Remus nodded. "Not particularly, no," he said. "Do you?"

Remus shook his head slowly. "Not so much."

"But?"

"But," Remus continued, nodding at his friend, "I don't think it matters anymore whether we or anyone else believes in it."

"I don't think it ever did," Sirius muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said, I don't think it ever mattered," Sirius repeated, running a hand through his shoulder-length black hair. "As soon as something like this is known, it has a tendency to become self-fulfilling."

"You have a point," Remus agreed, nodding thoughtfully and chewing some food. "If Voldemort hadn't known about the prophecy at all, he probably wouldn't have gone after Lily and James, at least not in the way he did."

"You know, Moony, I've always wondered why they agreed to that Fidelius in Godric's Hollow in the first place?" Sirius received a raised eyebrow in response. "There are Potter properties all over the world, you and I both know that, so why didn't they just stay at one of them? The Inverness manor has to be _at least_ as well protected as that Fideliused cottage was."

"You never asked James or Lily why?" Remus wondered, looking oddly at Sirius.

"I guess I never thought about it at the time," Sirius shrugged. "We were losing the war and everyone was so concerned with protecting Neville and Harry that Dumbledore's Fidelius seemed like the best option at the time…"

"And it probably was," Remus agreed, "which is why the Potter properties would have never worked. They're under a much older version of the Fidelius so too many people already knew about them. The new location at the cottage could be kept to absolutely only those who needed to know."

"Unfortunately the one with the Secret was the traitor," Sirius growled. Thinking of Pettigrew still made him see red. After everything James and Lily had done for that rat over the years, he had repaid them by giving them up to Voldemort. Sirius really did hope there was a special place in hell for that coward.

"Yes…" Remus trailed off, sighing. The two Marauders met eyes, both pairs of which were decidedly moist. "Sometimes I miss them more than I know to say," Remus added, quietly, the emotion bleeding into his voice, making it thick and low.

"Me too, Moony," Sirius agreed. "Me too." He looked away, filled with the memories of his two lost friends. It was hard to believe it had been almost fifteen years since they'd given their lives in the hope of saving Harry from Voldemort. But Sirius's bleak thoughts turned a sharp corner into positive territory when he thought of Harry, of whom James and Lily would be incredibly proud. That young man had been through so much in his life, more than Sirius could guess or know, and he was _still_ fighting the good fight.

Remus echoed his thoughts: "They would be so proud of Harry. _I'm_ so proud of him."

Sirius nodded and smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. The age melted away from his face. "He's done some pretty amazing things, hasn't he?"

Remus chuckled. "Your scrawny arse is still here, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sirius laughed, "I suppose it is." He fondly recalled when Harry and his lovely friend Hermione literally bent time to save him from the Dementors. James would have thought it was a prank worthy of Merlin himself.

"With the right training, Sirius, I really do think Harry will crush Voldemort like an ant," Remus said, sounding serious once again.

"You really think so?" Sirius countered, hope evident in his voice. He hadn't actually given the idea too much serious thought, preferring to avoid rendering the possible outcomes in his vivid mind's eye.

"We all saw the end of that duel in the Atrium," Remus said, awe filling his voice for a moment. "I have never seen such power before, even when I witnessed Albus and Voldemort duel back in '79."

"I know, his Reductor blew threw Voldemort's _Aegis Aeterno_ like it was nothing."

"Obviously the Dark Lord has years of experience on Harry, both theoretical and practical, but if Harry receives some focused training on combat magic, I don't see how it will even be much of a test. 1404 on the Emrys Index? Before last night I would have thought that impossible," Remus said.

Sirius shook his head in disbelief at it all. "Also, all _six_ of them are sorcerers? I was under the impression that only one or two percent of magicals had that much power."

"That's not merely an impression. That's a statistical fact—or at least it _was_ when the Index was still widely used," Remus said.

"I _really_ find it hard to believe Hermione Granger is more powerful than Dumbledore and probably Voldemort too," Sirius said, after a moment's silence. "Or that she is as powerful as Merlin is traditionally considered to be." Remus studied him for a moment.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well…she is utterly brilliant, there is no doubt about that, but from what I've seen and heard she's never exhibited spells beyond the average power level of a witch her age—except for that Stunner last night, I suppose."

"Don't let Harry hear you say anything like that," Remus replied. "He thinks the sun shines out her arse." Both Marauders laughed at this, each wondering where life would take Harry and Hermione. They were obviously made for each other and complemented the other very well; and it was nice they realized this a little sooner than James and Lily had.

"Seriously, though, I think you might be selling Hermione a little short. Sure, she doesn't have the relative power of the others at the moment, but I believe that's because she overthinks her spells. She tries to adhere too rigidly to the prescribed motions and incantations, whereas with Harry it's usually instinctual."

Sirius snorted. "And then if he doesn't get the spell he has enough confidence in his ridiculous amount of power to force it anyway."

Remus inclined his head and smiled. "There is that. No third year should have been able to conjure a corporeal Patronus. I was humoring his request to teach him how to defend against the Dementors, so color me surprised when he actually managed it."

"Thank you, Moony. Without that knowledge, he wouldn't have been able to save me," Sirius replied, staring his friend in the eyes.

Remus acknowledged his thanks and let out a long sigh. "He's really done a lot for us, hasn't he?" the lycanthrope asked the Grim.

"Yes." Sirius paused. "Makes you wonder what you've done in return, doesn't it?"

Remus nodded sadly. They were both thinking of the many ways they'd failed Harry James Potter since the death of James and Lily. Sirius looked toward the ceiling of the kitchen, vowing silently to the spirits of the Potters that he would not fail Harry any longer. There was just one annoying problem, however: his damned incarceration and assumed guilt in the Wizarding world. He could move around the Muggle world easily enough but it was debatable whether he would be of any help there.

The two Marauders made eye contact. From the set of their jaws to the smoldering look in their eyes, it was clear they were both thinking the same thing.

"Harry and his friends are going to be the leaders in this war," Remus said.

"If there was ever any doubt about that, it vanished after last night," Sirius added.

"I think we need to throw our chips down and help them in any way we can, even if that means splitting from Albus and the Order," Remus continued.

"I agree. But I'm not sure we'll need to split from the Order," Sirius said. "Dumbledore would be a goddamn fool to continue to treat Harry the way he has in the past. Right now public opinion is behind both of them, but with a few well-placed words Harry could do some serious damage to the image of Dumbledore the world has had for years now. After all, it was _Harry_ who forced Voldemort to leave the Ministry."

"And not only that, but I do think Albus does actually care for Harry," Remus said. "James and Lily were like the son and daughter he never had. I can't imagine how everything has become so royally fucked, but I think and hope he'll come around to Harry's way of thinking."

"I think I know why everything is so bollocksed," Sirius responded. "There is _something_ Albus is still keeping from everyone, something he thinks only he can handle, a _pièce de résistance_ if you will."

"You should tell Harry this theory. We need to be there when he confronts Albus about it, too."

Sirius leaned forward. "So it's decided, then? We back Harry and Hermione and the others no matter what?" He held out his arm to Remus, who also leaned forward. They gripped each other's forearms in the old brothers-at-arms handshake.

"To hell and back," Remus said. His voice was cold steel. Sirius could see traces of the wolf in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.

He nodded once. "Into the breach, my friend."

* * *

><p>Tonks was having a hell of a day. After the revelations at the previous night's Order meeting, she and Remus had been a little too shocked to explore their fledgling relationship. They had parted ways and she had tried to sleep, but the turmoil of Voldemort reappearing and the knowledge of Harry's awesome power had prevented her from sleeping very much at all. Mixed in with the rush of her thoughts, though, was a significant sense of hope too, which warmed her heart and gave her purpose.<p>

So it was with extremely mixed feelings—hope and anxiety—that she had reported to work this morning to find the DMLE a frenzy of activity. Amelia had mobilized the entire department, recalling Aurors and Hit Wizards from retirement. She had paired Tonks with the much more experienced Kingsley Shacklebolt, which was fine because they both knew each other very well from the Order, but the nature of their partnership had taken her by surprise. She and Shacklebolt were the leaders of a new task force created to root out and eliminate the influence of Voldemort within the DMLE. Alastor Moody, one of the recalled retired Aurors, had just joined her and her partner in a small conference room to discuss what needed to be done.

Tonks wanted to break for lunch, since it was almost past that time, but Shacklebolt and Moody were deeply engaged in the initial strategy they would use. She rolled her eyes as they argued over whether forcing all Aurors and Hit Wizards to submit to an interrogation with Veritaserum had merit. Predictably, Shacklebolt vehemently opposed the idea; Moody, on the other hand, was all for the use of what he called 'necessary and proper force.'

Tonks, wearing her trademark spiky pink hair today, was about to interrupt and add her two pence—which included them putting some food in their stomachs—when the door to the conference room was flung open with a _BANG_ against the wall. Moody jumped a mile high, which caused Tonks to nearly start laughing at the irony of Mr. Constant Vigilance being taken by surprise.

Director Bones stood in the doorway, looking about as furious and determined as Tonks had ever seen her boss, which was saying something indeed. Her monocle was hanging from its chain, forgotten.

"You. You. And you," she ground out, pointing at the three of them in turn. "Change in plans. Follow me to the holding cells. We're meeting Scrimgeour there." And without another word, she turned and walked briskly away from the doorway.

Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Moody stared at each other for only one second before they were on their feet and moving swiftly to catch up with the Director. The various areas of the DMLE through which they passed quieted significantly as the personnel saw the look on the Director's face and who was following her. With the whispering that was coming in their wake, Tonks knew it wouldn't be long before the entire Ministry knew something big was up.

Amelia entered a lift and the three Aurors and Order members followed her. As it clattered to the Ministry's most secure level, which was not even listed on the lift's directory, Amelia turned to study them.

"What's this about, Director?" Moody asked, gruffly. He hated being in the dark. Tonks could tell he was absolutely _itching_ to go for his wand, just in case.

Amelia favored him with a long look.

"I know about your _extracurricular_ activities," Amelia started, and Tonks had a moment of panic in which she thought she was being arrested. But, then she thought about it for more than a millisecond; Amelia would have had them arrested if that were the case, rather than demanding they accompany her to the holding cells.

"All _three_ of you," she continued. "So far I have been willing to turn a blind eye to the Order of the Phoenix, especially where it concerns what were two, and now are three, of my best Aurors—you know, plausible deniability and all that. However, this morning something happened in a meeting of the Heads that has forced my hand.

"It is no longer clear who I can trust, even within our own department. Your membership in Dumbledore's little club all but assures me you are loyal to our side, if not completely loyal to the Ministry," she concluded, taking great pleasure in watching them flinch at her last barb. Few outside the Order knew concretely of its existence, so it was slightly disconcerting the Director had this information.

She then did something which surprised Tonks: she rolled up the sleeves of her robes and showed them the insides of her forearms, which were bereft of any kind of mark.

"I'll need _this_ assurance as well," Amelia said, though it wasn't a request.

Moody was the first to act. He merely turned his arms over, since his sleeves were short; Kingsley and Tonks rolled up their sleeves as well and showed their bare forearms. Amelia nodded.

"Good. Not that I don't trust you, but after this morning, you never can be _too_ sure."

"What happened, Director?" Shacklebolt asked.

"You'll see soon enough," she responded. "I will also need your oath that you will reveal _nothing_ you see here today to anyone outside us four before this information is released for public consumption."

Tonks trusted her boss implicitly, perhaps even more than she trusted Dumbledore. She quickly pulled her wand gave the oath. Shacklebolt wasn't far behind her.

"Is this really necessary, Amelia?" Moody asked, preferring to be familiar with his boss. She wasn't buying it.

"If you do not give the oath, Auror Moody, you will return to the DMLE on this lift and I will pull you off the task force," she stated. So it was that even Moody bent to her iron will, though he was grumbling all the way about the nature of magical oaths.

The lift halted and the doors opened. "Follow me," she told them, turning and exiting the lift as swiftly as she'd moved through the DMLE. The Aurors followed silently.

They moved deeper and deeper into the secure area of the Ministry, stopping at several checkpoints along the way to have their identities verified. Tonks noticed the normal security guards had been replaced with other highly ranked Aurors, which was curious; normally, security positions were reserved for the lowest on the totem pole. Finally, they all arrived at Solitary, which was the Auror name for the most secure part of the Ministry's holding area. Head Auror Scrimgeour himself stood guard here.

"Rufus," Amelia acknowledged him. He inclined his head; Tonks, Moody, and Shacklebolt gave their superior a loose salute.

"I trust the prisoners are making themselves comfortable?" Amelia asked, a rough edge to her voice that set Tonks on edge. What the hell had happened?

Rufus smiled grimly. "I believe so, ma'am."

Amelia waved him aside and motioned for the three Aurors to follow her; Rufus stepped away and engaged the unlocking charms on the door. A short hallway with six doors on each side revealed itself. Amelia stopped in front of the first on the left, pointing to the window and indicating that they should look into the cell. She moved away slightly as Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Moody crowded around to get a look.

"Merlin, is that Yaxley?" Shacklebolt muttered. Tonks nodded dumbly as she saw who could only be the surly Head of the Department for Magical Sports and Games. He was unconscious and positioned in such a way that his Dark Mark was clearly on display.

"A marked Death Eater is a Head?" Moody asked, rhetorically. The incredulity was entirely evident in his demeanor.

"Was a Head," Amelia responded. "He has been provisionally terminated from his position."

"Provisionally?" Tonks asked, turning to her.

"Yes, Auror Tonks. Regardless of what we all know that mark means, the man is still entitled to a trial, which he will get before a full session of the Wizengamot tomorrow."

"Of course," Tonks agreed.

"Three more stops," Amelia said, motioning them farther down the hallway. They stopped at the second door on the left.

"Thicknesse too?" Moody asked, the tension and anxiety much sharper in his voice. Pius Thicknesse, who Tonks only passingly knew as the taciturn Head of the Department for Finance, was in a similar position to Yaxley; the ugly presence of the Dark Mark was clear from the door.

Shacklebolt turned to Amelia. "How is this possible? _Two_ Heads are marked Death Eaters? Isn't there some kind of screening process?"

She merely raised her eyebrows at the imposing Auror. "If there were, do you think these two would have somehow managed to slip past it?"

"No ma'am."

"I hope this is something the Wizengamot will discuss tomorrow," Moody imparted, staring through the window at Thicknesse.

"Indeed," Amelia said, moving down the hallway. The Aurors followed her to the next cell.

"They infiltrated the Department of Mysteries too?" Tonks asked, now nearly as distraught as Moody. The famed Department of Mysteries was renowned for its security and impenetrability, but before them was the marked figure of Augustus Rookwood, well known in his role as Deputy Unspeakable.

Amelia merely moved on silently. She stopped in front of the fourth door, and by the worried line of her jaw, Tonks figured this one had to be worse than the rest; though how that could be possible, she did not know. She looked into the room.

The words were coming out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying.

"Bloody fucking hell, _Fudge_?"

* * *

><p>Harry, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Daphne silently appeared at the top of the great marble stairs to Gringotts. The Slytherin looked a little bewildered at this novel mode of transportation, but said nothing as they moved toward the bank as one.<p>

Before they'd left Hogwarts, Hermione had insisted they alter their clothing to somewhat conceal their appearance while they were in the Alley, even if they would be spending nearly all of that time within Gringotts. So they had all transfigured their clothing, with some help from Hermione and Luna, to a matching set of gray robes with a loose gray hood. Ginny had suggested black instead, but she was swiftly reminded of what Death Eaters wore, and the idea died on her lips.

Hermione had added her own flourish to the robes: a lightning bolt striking a Phoenix rising from the ashes of its rebirth. When asked why she added the logo to the right breast of the robes, she'd shrugged and said it represented the group.

The two goblin guards at the door watched them impassively as the seven fourth and fifth years passed into Gringotts. There were several witches and wizards conducting their business in the lobby, though most of them turned to stare at the newcomers. Harry ignored their stares and led his group to the Head Teller, who feigned a lack of interest until Harry stood directly in front of him.

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry asked. He heard Daphne's breath catch for some reason. It was a comfort to know Hermione stood to his right, the familiar feminine outline of her robes giving her away.

The goblin regarded him openly for several moments. Harry's face was not entirely concealed, but his scar was; finally, the goblin indicated he should continue.

"My name is Harry James Potter." The Head Teller visibly reacted. "I would like to speak to someone about the status of my account."

"Prove that you are Potter."

Harry pushed back the hood and his fringe so his scar was on display. The goblin stared at it briefly; then his eyes cut to the other six figures with Harry.

"And who are they?"

"Friends," Harry stated.

Harry and the Head Teller stared each other down; the goblin relented first.

"Very well," he said. "One moment and I shall return." Abruptly, he turned away and disappeared through a door directly behind his station.

"Unpleasant little fellow," Ron said.

"All goblins are unpleasant," Daphne muttered. No one else responded; they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop. Harry found Hermione's hand and held it.

Another minute or two passed. The silence and the wait grew more and more tense. Harry could hear some of his friends fidgeting restlessly behind him. Just as he was about to ask Neville about goblin customs regarding the old accounts, the door opened again, capturing his attention completely.

The Head Teller backed through the doorway into the lobby, head bowed in deference to the goblin who accompanied him. Harry heard both Neville and Daphne make some strangled noises in their throats as this new goblin was revealed.

He was tall, much taller than the average goblin, middle-aged, and had very long black hair flowing well past his shoulders. He was dressed in ceremonial plate mail of what looked like either silver or platinum, scarlet trousers, a black cape, and had a goblin long sword in the scabbard hanging from his belt. He wore copious amounts of gold jewelry and had many piercings. There was a brutal scar running diagonally across his face

Harry and the others felt the authority and power radiating from this individual. They barely noticed that all activity had immediately ceased in the lobby behind them upon the appearance of this goblin.

"Lord Potter," the regal figure said, bowing slightly toward Harry. His voice was low and musical. "We have much to discuss."


	10. Alliance

A/N: I'm overwhelmed by the outpouring of support for this story. I'm the COO of a major software firm and I was called out of the country on emergency business about fourteen weeks ago. I returned just before Christmas. I had intended to stop writing _Mage Rising_, but I can't do that now, can I? Onward…

**Chapter 10: Alliance**

Utter silence had descended over the lobby of Gringotts. The unnamed goblin raised his head from the small bow and met Harry's eyes.

"Sir," Harry said, bowing with only his head in return. He noticed that Neville and Daphne had prostrated more fully, bending at the waist. "Please, call me Harry. I may be a Lord by title, but I know nothing of my family history and I don't think I've earned the right."

The goblin's lips quirked into the approximation of a smile, showing the pointed tips of some of his fangs. It wasn't meant to be menacing, but something about this goblin screamed to Harry he was a formidable force. Crossing this tall goblin would surely mean a swift death. Harry had felt nothing like this from Voldemort, whom he was more and more seeing as nothing more than an extremely powerful bully.

"As you wish, Harry," the goblin responded. "I am Ragnok Longblade, director of what wizards call Gringotts Britain and High King of the Goblins the world over."

Harry and everyone else in his group quickly realized the magnitude of the situation. He quickly fell to one knee and inclined his head toward the goblin ruler standing in front of him. His friends followed his lead and soon enough all seven of them were kneeling before the High King.

Ragnok said nothing for several seconds, considering the teenagers from his now-higher vantage point. They were all similarly attired, had remained respectful throughout their time in Gringotts so far, and had responded quickly to the knowledge of his royal standing. He rarely felt the need to stand on ceremony with humans, since many did not observe the proper customs, but he did derive a small measure of satisfaction from their prostration. He was, after all, the king of an entire race. Finally, he spoke:

"I appreciate the gesture, I truly do," he said. "But please, stand and come forth; as I stated we do have much to discuss."

Harry stood and the rest followed. Ragnok motioned for them to follow him through the door behind the teller station, through which he swiftly walked. Harry nodded toward the shocked Head Teller as he passed; it seemed as if the goblin could not believe what he had just witnessed.

Ragnok walked fluidly and with purpose, and the eight magical beings nearly jogged down a long curving hallway, which was gently sloping down as well. Not a word was said during the three or four minute trek to Ragnok's office; the king's door was identified simply with 'Ragnok.'

They passed into an antechamber, which appeared to be a sort of reception area. There was a young goblin behind a desk here that bowed toward Ragnok and stared at the humans as they passed. Ragnok moved through an interior door into what Harry could only assume was his personal office, which was unremarkable for the king of an entire race. In fact, it was so purely functional as to be almost utilitarian. Harry liked Ragnok more and more.

Seven chairs were arranged at the front of the desk in a semicircle, and Ragnok pointed them in that direction. They took their seats as Ragnok stalked around his desk and sat in his chair; Harry was in the middle seat; Hermione and Luna were to his left and right; Ginny and Ron were to their left and right; and Neville and Daphne were to their left and right.

Harry fully lowered his hood and gestured for his friends to do the same. Ragnok's eyes went from face to face as they were fully revealed.

"I believe introductions are in order?" the King asked.

"Neville Longbottom, scion to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom."

"Ginevra Weasley, daughter to the Noble House of Weasley."

"Hermione Granger, Muggleborn."

"Luna Lovegood, daughter and heir apparent to the Noble House of Lovegood."

"Ronald Weasley, son to the Noble House of Weasley."

"Daphne Greengrass, daughter and heir apparent to the Most Noble House of Greengrass."

"And you all already know who I am," Ragnok returned. "I would ask that while we are seated here in my office that the usual customs and etiquette be ignored, for if we used the titles and pomp associated with our names and stations, this conversation would stretch to twice longer than needed. However, in public discourse, we must again revert to the old ways."

Everyone nodded at the King's simple request, unsure why he was being so up front about this. To Harry, it mattered little in the grand scheme of things.

Ragnok met Harry's eyes. "Now, Harry, I'm aware that you're here to accept your inheritance."

Harry nodded. "That's right."

"And you know of its magnitude?" the King asked.

Harry's eyes slid to Hermione's for a moment. "Not exactly, no. But it's been hinted at."

"Financially, the Potter fortune is one of the largest in the world, magical or Muggle. Its actual value is of little consequence—just know that it would be impossible to make any significant dent in it, due to your investments, interest on loans, and rent you collect from various properties. Politically, though dormant now for more than a decade, the Lord Potter commands a powerful position in the Wizarding world, as well as the global financial system. In terms of equity, you have a good number of priceless properties spread throughout most of the world, as well as countless priceless artifacts in your vault here and at your homes. The Potter Grimoire dates back to the Roman empire; the last person to add to it was your mother, Lily Potter. You can find it in the vault here.

"As one of the founding Noble and Ancient Houses, you yourself control fourteen seats in the Wizengamot and another thirty-one by proxy. With the Houses Longbottom and Greengrass alone, you would be halfway toward the majority needed to control the assembly. Suffice it to say that if you stood up during a session of the Wizengamot, everyone would listen, whether they wanted to or not."

Harry absorbed this information as best as he could. He had no concept of money or riches, so that mattered little to him, but the sudden connection to his family was overwhelming. Down in the Potter vault was a spell book his mother has last modified…

"Forgive me, Ragnok, but why didn't Gringotts contact me about this? From what Neville said earlier, I could have claimed my inheritance at any time due to there being no other Potter heir."

"It's not our place, Harry," Ragnok replied, somewhat more softly than he had been speaking. "We do not meddle in the affairs of wizards—we only keep their accounts and their belongings. Anything more has led to terrible conflict in the past, something we would like to avoid in the future, no matter what the public opinion of us may be."

Ragnok paused here, though it was clear he wanted to say more. Harry's fist had involuntarily clenched as another person revealed to him _why_ the knowledge had been kept from him all of his life. He couldn't lash out at this goblin—or any goblin, really—if it was ingrained in their culture (and a seeming royal decree) to sit on the knowledge.

"I will say, however, that the Potter family has always been closer to my race than most other humans, and the fact that we could not act upon this was truly unfortunate. I do not wish to deflect the blame, but it should have been up to your guardians, mentors, or teachers to push you in this direction."

"Dumbledore," Harry muttered under his breath. Yet another thing the Headmaster would have to explain. Hermione's hand found his and there was another period of silence.

"So what now?" Harry eventually asked. "How do I officially become Lord Potter? And once I do, what's the next step?" He was looking at his friends as he asked the last question.

"You need to accept the Potter Head of House ring," Daphne said, to which Ragnok nodded. "After you assume control of the estate, you may want to have a look in your vault and visit any interesting properties to see their state. You could also formally announce in the next Wizengamot session that you have taken your place as Lord Potter."

"You would have access to a Lord's suite at Hogwarts, as well," Neville added. "You wouldn't have to stay in the Gryffindor dorm anymore."

"I don't think I'd want to move out just because I claimed my family's title," Harry replied, sending his friends a reassuring glance. It mattered little to Luna or Daphne, of course, but he could tell Hermione at least was reassured.

"There is another matter," Ragnok said, rather more delicately than he'd stated anything else during this meeting. Seven pairs of eyes swung toward the Goblin King.

"As I said before, the Potter family has been much closer to my race than just about any other Wizarding line. That relationship has naturally waxed and waned throughout the history of your family, but it was never stronger than when your grandfather and father frequented our halls."

"I never knew," Harry said, quietly.

"Nor could you be expected to," Ragnok returned.

"Sir, if I may?" Daphne asked. The King nodded at her. "You mean to say you and the Potters had some kind of _alliance_?"

"It was never stated so literally, but yes."

"But…isn't that illegal?" Neville questioned. There was no accusation in his voice—only curiosity.

Ragnok sat back in his chair and turned his small, black eyes toward the ceiling. In that moment, Harry had an epiphany the magnitude of which struck him like a physical force. Ragnok may have been the leader of an entire race, but he was also an individual—a thinking, living, sentient being with his own personality, problems, responsibilities, and daily life that made him uniquely _him_. Harry did not feel so far removed from this King when he realized they were all trying to get by in this world, with a little help from their friends.

"It is illegal for wizards and goblins to form any kind of official alliance, yes," Ragnok eventually said, looking back at the assembled witches and wizards. "That is one of the reasons why there was never anything on paper with the Potter family. It was a tacit understanding that we were working toward the same mutual goals, which included prosperity for each and a little more tolerance in general in our world.

"The Potters and a select few other families, such as the Longbottoms, have always been more willing to treat us as equals—business partners, friends, allies—than anyone else. Over the centuries, we cultivated this into a silent partnership."

A pause, then: "Which, if made official, would be illegal, yes."

Harry then made a split-second decision which would affect all of their futures. He leaned forward and stared intently at Ragnok. His friends and the goblin in question felt his magic bleed into the air around them.

"I would like to claim my inheritance," he said.

"Very well," Ragnok replied, reaching into the top drawer of his desk and pulling out an ornately gilded jewelry box. "This is the Potter crest," Ragnok informed him, as he slid the box across his desk. It consisted of a sword and axe crossed over the image of a hippogriff, among other miscellaneous things. Harry opened the box and found a simple platinum ring engraved with glowing runes. He put it on his right ring finger. The runes glowed more brightly for a few seconds before going almost completely dark; the ring resized to fit him perfectly and suddenly his mind was flooded with knowledge of his family that he could have never known. It was all rather obscure and arcane without any context, so he pushed it to the back of his thoughts for now.

"Lord Potter," Ragnok said, inclining his head toward Harry. Daphne slid from her seat and kneeled on the floor in front of Harry.

"Lord Potter," she echoed. One by one, his other friends did the same, with the exception of Neville, who bowed only his head like Ragnok in a gesture of respect, rather than any kind of subservience.

"Rise, all of you," Harry stated, slightly uncomfortable from the display, even though he knew it was necessary for what he was about to do. Ragnok was watching Harry carefully, having noticed the change in his stature and the ambient magic in the air.

"Ragnok just spoke of an alliance, and I believe you came with us today, Daphne, to become a vassal of the House of Potter on behalf of the Greengrass family," Harry started, receiving a nod from the blond. He was now standing and facing his friends, with Ragnok in his line of vision too.

"I propose that we—all of us—come together today to stand against Voldemort and the tyranny his ideology represents. We are only as strong as we are together, and we need to be strong to defeat him in the end. There is no future for magical Britain if Voldemort is allowed to win the coming conflict. I for one have no plans to let him do that, but in order for that to be true, we must decide here and now to become the alliance everyone glimpsed in the Department of Mysteries."

Harry took a deep breath; all eyes were riveted on him. "I, Lord Potter, do hereby swear to protect Houses Greengrass, Lovegood, Weasley, and Granger with the full might and magic of House Potter. I, Lord Potter, do hereby swear to stand side-by-side with House Longbottom with the full might and magic of House Potter. And finally, I, Lord Potter," Harry continued, turning toward Ragnok, "do hereby swear to work with King Ragnok and the Goblin nation toward a resolution to this conflict favorable to all. On my magic do I swear these things, and on my magic is the penalty for failure. So mote it be."

Harry's magic rushed from him, enveloping the other living beings in the room, filling them with such strength and will that, for one second, they knew what it felt like to be Harry Potter. His fierce determination and selflessness were expressed more eloquently by his magic touching them than any words could ever convey, and they knew they would charge the bloody gates of Hell to stand by him.

"I accept," Daphne said, voice somewhat awed by the almost-physical presence of Harry's magic in the room. "House Greengrass will stand as vassal to House Potter and swears allegiance in the fight against Voldemort."

Ron accepted on behalf of House Weasley, followed by Luna and Hermione accepting for their families. Neville swore that House Longbottom would stand by House Potter as allies.

The attention in the room shifted to Ragnok, who was looking at Harry quite oddly. There was something of a Goblin smirk on his face, though his eyes were slightly puzzled and possibly shone with a hint of admiration.

"You understand, Lord Potter, that a formal alliance with the Goblin nation is illegal and would be considered sedition by your government?"

"I do, King Ragnok."

"And you have no problem with this?"

"My government is losing and _will lose_ this war without me—and now without all of you," Harry said, motioning toward his friends. "What they think matters little at this point, especially since you and your people want the same things we do: tolerance, equality, and an end to the pointless and ceaseless conflict over blood superiority."

Ragnok nodded. He stood, came around the desk, and drew his long sword. Daphne and Neville gasped as he placed the tip of it into the carpet and fell to one knee in front of them all; rather than bowing his head, however, he met each of their eyes.

"Then on this day, I, Ragnok Longblade, High King of the Goblin Nation, do hereby swear to stand by Lord Potter and his allies in this allegiance newly formed; our mutual goal is the destruction of one Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, as well as the reformation of magical society in Britain to be more tolerable to all sentient magical species, regardless of their blood purity."

Harry noted the slight change in Ragnok's wording, but did not comment. It was a very slight change and would only lead to more positive things, rather than less. A pulse of magic erupted from Ragnok's sword, engulfing them all as Harry's had, and suddenly they all were intimately aware of the fact that they were bound to each other by a magical allegiance. It was empowering and a little frightening, to know such drastic steps had been taken in such a short time.

Ragnok stood, sheathing his sword. The _clang_ as it hit home in the scabbard echoed around the office.

Before anyone could say anything else, three quick knocks came on Ragnok's door; without waiting for the King to say anything, a goblin dressed in battle armor strode in and stood at attention in the doorway.

"Speak," Ragnok commanded.

"My King," the goblin said, "Death Eaters and the one known as Voldemort attack Diagon Alley as we speak."

Harry and his friends visibly reacted to this news. The goblin spoke over their consternation.

"They are currently on the opposite end from Gringotts, but they are making their way here, laying waste to everything in their path. We will need your authorization to lock down the Unbreakable Wards."

Harry and Ragnok locked eyes. Some kind of understanding passed between them.

Harry held out his arms to his friends, saying, "Come on, grab on, we have to see if we can help," he said, his voice as full of command as Ragnok's had been with his subordinate. No one questioned it. Everyone put a hand on Harry and he transported them all to the marble steps in front of Gringotts.

Before their vision even cleared, the smell hit their noses. It was a wretched combination of burning flesh, burning wood, and smoky char.

The far half of the Alley was an inferno; the conflagration must have been aided by magical fire, because it burned higher, brighter, and hotter than anything Harry or the rest of them had ever seen. And, striding down the middle of the Alley, between the flames licking hungrily at their sides, was a large force of Death Eaters, with a smiling Voldemort at their head. His smile was one of triumph and sadism.

It was a cataclysm. The people in those shops had no chance; panicked citizens were picked off easily. And the fire was advancing steadily toward Gringotts.

"Merlin," Hermione breathed, though Harry could hear the rage underneath her soft tone that he felt coursing through his veins. He looked to his friends and, while fear was plainly evident on their faces, so was determination.

"Dobby," Harry called. The little elf popped into existence in front of them shortly thereafter. He was facing Harry and therefore did not see the destruction behind him. Harry took him by the shoulders and turned him to face the Alley.

"I need you to go to Hogwarts and inform Dumbledore of this. Bring him and any other staff you can back here."

"Dobby will do this!" he exclaimed, and popped away after one soul-stirring glance at the seven teenagers lined up on the steps of the bank.

"Lord Potter," a voice called from behind them. He turned to see Ragnok and an entire retinue of elite goblin soldiers standing at the ready by him.

"The wards around the bank will be locked down in a matter of seconds. If you leave their bounds, you will not be able to come back inside until this crisis is over. You should consider staying here for your safety and the safety of your friends."

Harry's face hardened. "I could simply take us all away from here if it were a matter of escape. But we're not running from this fight, King Ragnok, and I'm surprised you would even suggest such a thing after what just happened in your office."

"You must pick your battles wisely, Lord Potter," Ragnok said, enigmatically.

"You must also choose to make a stand," Neville said, voice as hard as Harry's was. The others were nodding along with Harry and Neville.

Ragnok's eyes slid to the firestorm raging through the Alley and the gleeful Death Eaters in its midst. His clawed hand fidgeted restlessly with the sword at his side.

Harry wasn't going to wait anymore. Enough damage had been caused. He spun toward the Alley once again and pulled his wand. His friends echoed his actions.

With one final look at each other, they broke into a run down the marble stairs toward the chaos that awaited them.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore had just deposited a bedraggled, disheveled, and unconscious Umbridge onto a bed in the Hospital Wing when Dobby appeared before him. He would know the former Malfoy house elf anywhere, especially considering Dobby's close connection to Harry.<p>

The elf was extremely distraught. His eyes were larger than tennis balls and he was pulling his floppy ears down past his chin.

"Headmaster!" he squeaked. "Diagon Alley is being attacked by the bad wizards and You Know Who!"

Dumbledore was instantly alert, forgetting entirely about Umbridge and his impending interrogation of her.

"Tell me more," he said.

"Harry and his friends are being at the goblin bank," Dobby continued. "Dobby thinks they is going to fight the bad men!"

"Fawkes!" Dumbledore called, straightening up from the crouch he had entered to speak with Dobby. As the firebird flamed into existence above Dumbledore's head, he looked back at the panicky elf.

"Dobby, rally the other faculty to my office, please," he commanded. He grabbed Fawkes's tail and was translocated to his office in a rush of fire and a breath a wind.

Almost immediately, Dobby began popping faculty members into the office, in varying states of surprise, anger, undress and other things. They all quickly saw the hard lines of the Headmaster's face and attended to their own situation as best as they could, watching as the strange house elf forcefully Apparated more and more adults into the office. Soon, every magical adult currently at the castle was standing before Dumbledore; Fawkes was resting on his shoulder and trilled a conciliatory note to briefly calm the group.

"Voldemort is attacking Diagon Alley with a force of Death Eaters as we speak. I do not know the extent of the damage, but I do know that Harry and his close friends were at Gringotts conducting some business when the attack started. I know I don't have to mention they are all probably already fighting to hold Voldemort back."

Snape grumbled something disparaging about Harry under his breath, but everyone ignored him. Many looked frightened, but they all knew what they were being called upon to do. Dumbledore was never prouder of his teachers than that moment, when they all, as one, silently decided to stand against the Death Eaters with him.

"Let us go and join them, Albus," Minerva said, stepping forward. Her eyes were cold.

Dumbledore nodded. He instructed everyone to hold onto each other and told Fawkes to take them away. A brief firestorm followed and the Headmaster's office was suddenly empty.

* * *

><p>The scraping of metal upon metal behind them stopped their forward progress. They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs, where the Unbreakable Ward was and beyond which they would not be able to return. They turned and saw that Ragnok and his guards had drawn their weapons and were descending the stairs toward them. More armed goblins were streaming from the bank in an unending line.<p>

"Once we cross the threshold, it is us and them," Ragnok said, directing his voice toward the seven humans. "I have ordered the warriors of my race to fight with us, but we have little magic to ourselves. We will be mainly fighting hand to hand. We need you to get us close enough to them to do damage with our weapons," the King continued, pulling up beside Harry and stopping. The screaming of burning magical citizens and the crackling of the inferno in the Alley beyond them faded into the background for a long moment as the humans and goblins considered each other. And even still, more goblins spilled from the bank, falling into perfectly regimented lines behind Ragnok and his elite guard.

Harry and Ragnok were eye level due to the King's position on a higher stair. Something crackled in the air around them as the silence continued for an indelible second.

"Stay close behind us," Harry commanded, turning toward the oncoming Death Eaters once again. The space between the bank and their advancing ranks was a no-man's land, filled with dead bodies and shimmering, overheated air.

"Hermione, Neville, take the right and left flank and defend our sides with your most powerful shields. Daphne, Ron, Ginny, Luna—I want two of you on either side of me, using your most powerful offensive spells. Hold nothing back; shoot directly into the Death Eaters, at Voldemort even. We want them on the defensive."

"What will you be doing?" Hermione asked, taking up her position on their right side.

"Fortifying our defenses and attacks so we can close ranks with them. Once we're close enough, the goblins can break through our line and mow them down. We won't be able to protect them when they're inside the Death Eaters' group, but by that time it won't matter. None of them are equipped for hand to hand combat."

As Harry spoke, the air around him began to warp and tremble; tiny arcs of magical energy started to rip through the space near him. When he turned his eyes to them one last time, they were glowing with power. The marble stair beneath his feet started to crack.

"We shall be right behind you, Lord Potter."

"And we'll pave the way, King Ragnok," Harry replied.

The seven humans dropped the last few stairs to the cobblestones of the Alley and took off at a sprint, heading straight toward the Death Eaters and Voldemort.


	11. Ploy

**Chapter 11: Ploy**

Sirius and Remus were finally starting to clean Grimmauld and make it less of a tomb when an extremely irate and frantic house elf popped into the foyer.

"Masters Dogman and Wolfman!" Dobby called, squeaking in his high pitched voice even higher than was normal for him. Sirius and Remus came running from separate rooms on the ground floor; in any other situation they might have laughed at what Dobby called them, but something was dreadfully wrong.

"What is it, Dobby?" Remus asked, skidding to a stop next to the tiny elf and kneeling. Sirius was right behind him.

Dobby could barely speak. He was pulling what looked to be quite painfully on his ears and his eyes were wide with…something. Shock? Terror?

"You Know Who attacks Diagon Alley!" he shouted.

"We have to warn Dumble—" Remus started, but the elf spoke over him.

"Dobby has already told the Headmaster! But Master Harry Potter sir is in the Alley with his friends!"

"What? What's he doing there?" Sirius asked.

"Doesn't matter—we need to go," Remus said. "Thank you for telling us, Dobby. Where are they attacking?"

"Everywhere!" Dobby cried. "The bad men were heading for Gringotts!"

"Let's Apparate off to the side then, by Ollivander's," Sirius said. He and Remus glanced at each other, silently wondering into exactly what they were going to be Apparating. With Harry and Dumbledore both already there, it was debatable whether they'd be of much use, but they were both powerful and knowledgeable wizards in their own right. Any help they could give would be something.

"Dobby will see you there!" he exclaimed, and popped out of existence. Remus nodded at Sirius and they both disappeared from Grimmauld with dual _pops_.

* * *

><p>Fawkes deposited Dumbledore and the rest of the staff just to the left of the marble stairs to Gringotts. As the fire from the Phoenix-assisted travel faded from their vision, another more insidious fire replaced it. Oppressive heat and an overwhelming, burning stench assaulted their senses, and they could do little more than gape at the scene before them for several moments. At least half of the Alley was a complete loss, ablaze in a magical firestorm from which there would be no recovery. Death Eaters, with Voldemort at their head, were marching down the center of the Alley, setting each building alight as they passed.<p>

But another thing caused them to stop and stare—seven human figures in gray hooded cloaks were sprinting away from the bank toward the advancing Death Eaters; and, following them, in rigid military formation, were rows of goblin warriors. Dumbledore recognized Harry from his wild black hair, and he could guess at the others, though many of them had their hoods up. And was that High King Ragnok Longblade at Harry's heels?

Dobby suddenly appeared near them; Fawkes was circling overhead, filling the Alley with a battle cry that hardened their hearts and gave them courage, hope, and strength. Sirius and Remus Apparated into the Alley by Ollivander's; they looked toward the staff and everyone stared at each other for a long second. Even from this distance, every single one of them could feel Harry's magic pouring through the Alley in waves, though he didn't appear to be casting any spells.

After a collective deep breath, all started forward, heading for Harry and the rest and where the two forces would inevitably clash.

The goblins marched relentlessly on. It seemed as if they had finally declared sides in this war. Dumbledore, with many decades of practice to call upon, unleashed the full tide of his magic, letting it fill and consume him; all around him, he could feel his colleagues and friends doing the same.

* * *

><p>Neville, Ron, Daphne, Harry, Luna, Ginny, and Hermione raced across the dead space between the approaching Death Eaters and the bank; they formed a straight line in that order. Daphne, running next to Harry, was literally overwhelmed by the force he emanated; she could barely focus on him, so hazy was he from the great magic his core was dumping into the air all around them. It made her feel strong, though; it made her feel like even the simplest of her spells could move mountains, and it also made her feel safe.<p>

"_Protego maxima_!" Neville called, from her left, and Hermione did the same on the right. Their flanks were now somewhat protected from the spell fire starting to come their way. The Death Eaters and Voldemort had nasty expressions of glee on their faces, reveling in the chaos and destruction all around them. Smoke filled their nostrils and clouded their vision, but Daphne hardly noticed it as Harry extended his non-wand arm and sent a wave of magic ahead of them that looked like a giant, overpowered shield spell. The Death Eaters' spells fizzled into nothing when they touched Harry's magic.

"_Reducto!"_

"_Bombarda!"_

"_Confringo!"_

"_Diffindo!"_

Ron, Daphne, Luna, and Ginny were using simple school-age offensive spells, but the stress of the moment and Harry's all-encompassing magical aura pushed their magical power beyond the bounds of what they were normally capable, and their spells sizzled toward the Death Eaters, radiating destructive force.

Daphne felt some satisfaction as her explosive hex reduced an on-coming robed woman to a puddle of gore; later she would have time to feel guilty, possibly, but for now she had to save Diagon Alley. The other offensive spells they were using were similarly effective against the Death Eaters.

Seeing this, the Death Eaters switched to the Killing Curse. Numerous green lights were suddenly rushing toward their group. Daphne barely had time to panic, accepting for a brief instant that her death was gliding toward her on green wings.

But then the magic in the air shifted; Harry was using both his wand and his other hand now; he rapidly conjured seven silver shields. Daphne's non-wand arm was startlingly weighted down by the physical defense as Harry conjured them directly onto their arms. Blocking the Killing Curse this way hurt her arm and shoulder considerably, but at least they could continue advancing, getting the goblins closer and closer to their targets. Voldemort, curiously enough, was watching everything, barely casting any spells, except to reinforce the magical flames every now and then. Something was off about this…

As more and more Killing Curses came their way, Harry starting shattering huge chunks of the cobbled street and levitating them into the way of the Death magic. At the same time, he was shielding them all as best as he could, with the help of Hermione and Neville. The staggering amount of power he was expelling was crackling and rolling off of him in dense, supercharged waves. His face was almost completely drowned out by the bright green light shining forth from his eyes.

They were still sprinting toward the Death Eaters; they had closed the distance to less than one hundred feet. Hermione and Neville reinforced their shield spells; Daphne, Ron, Luna, and Ginny continued to fire their overpowered basic offensive spells; and Harry continued to protect all of them. The goblins behind them had started to chant a battle cry, and now it was rising in volume as their blood lust for the Death Eaters took hold.

* * *

><p>The staff of Hogwarts, Sirius, Remus, and Dobby were contributing to the fight as best as they could. They couldn't Apparate to the middle of everything because they would just be in the way; and with the goblins filling much of the Alley between Gringotts and the seven students, direct offensive spells were somewhat out of the question. They were blocking Killing Curses with conjured items, attacking with long distance offensive spells, and attempting to put out some of the fires from afar. All of that was happening, of course, as they advanced up the sides of the Alley toward the Death Eaters and Voldemort.<p>

"_Fulmen ex caelo!"_ Dumbledore shouted, raising both arms over his head toward the wide blue sky, now obscured with smoke. This was an ancient spell, and one that required a large amount of power, but it was designed to smite enemies from afar. He lived up to his reputation as one of the most powerful and skilled wizards in the world as a magical lightning bolt from the blue struck the middle of the Death Eater force, vaporizing two and severely burning four others. Normally he wasn't inclined to kill with such ferocity—or even at all—but this battle called for drastic measures, especially with seven students on the front line.

He began to cast the spell in rapid succession; his blue eyes started to glow much like Harry's had; the magical lightning was coming fast and furious from the sky, and he was raining death upon the Death Eaters. The audible backlash from his spell rumbled throughout the Alley.

Harry and the rest were only twenty paces from the Death Eaters now. Dumbledore couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong about this whole thing, but before he could consider it, Voldemort held up a hand and the Death Eaters stopped. The Dark Lord turned his eyes toward the Headmaster and smirked.

As one, Voldemort and the Death Eaters raised their wands toward the seven humans. Even with the crush of noise in the Alley at that moment, Dumbledore was still able to hear the spell they all cast, in one voice:

"_IGNIS INFERIORUM!_"

Fiendfyre.

* * *

><p>Harry reacted instinctually to the near-sentient flames rolling toward him and his friends. He let slip the tenuous control he held over his magical core, throwing his arms out as if to ward off the onrushing death. A concussion wave of physical force expanded out and up from his body, encasing the seven of them and the goblins immediately behind in a dome-like shield. The Fiendfyre spilled all around them, up and over and across the surface of the dome, but not through. Harry's whole body was glowing intensely now.<p>

* * *

><p>Sirius watched with a dawning sense of hopelessness as the Fiendfyre consumed everything in its path, obscuring Harry and the others in its vicious red blaze. The goblins had stopped and were turning to run, having no defense against the spell.<p>

Voldemort and the Death Eaters Disapparated from the Alley.

Sirius knew the counter to the spell, but it was difficult and draining. He alone wouldn't be able to stop what had become one immense spell; so it was with relief he noted that Remus, Dumbledore, and the other adults were casting the counter as well. At first there was little visible progress, other than perhaps a slight slowing of the spell. Sirius grimaced as the slower goblins were immolated by the hungry flames, disappearing into the swirling vortex of light and heat as if they never existed at all. He hoped Harry was somehow protecting everyone in the middle of that fire—a feat worthy of Merlin, for sure, but if anyone could do it, Harry could.

He reinforced the counter spell, feeling the drain on his magic, but persevering because it meant life or death and the destruction or salvation of the rest of the Alley. Fiendfyre would eventually burn itself out, but not until after it had done more damage than was conceivable.

Finally, with the combined might and knowledge of the adult wizards, the flames stopped their forward motion, corralled into a kind of firestorm in the middle of the Alley by the counter spells. Air was rushing toward the center of Diagon Alley as the fire fought against the magic containing it, but it was to no avail; Sirius and the rest of them were too dogged in their efforts and slowly, but surely, the spell was contained, diminished, and disappeared. The cobblestones beneath where the Fiendfyre had made its last had fused into a glassy-looking substance.

And there, just beyond the remnants of the devastating fire, was his godson, maintaining some kind of domed shield and throwing off bright light and unimaginable power. It was so dense as to be tangible. Sirius could almost reach out and touch it.

The world rushed back to full speed.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later, the rest of the fires had been extinguished and staff from St. Mungo's and the Ministry were combing through the ruins of the Alley, looking for the injured or dead. Harry had been forced to sit and recover from his extreme expenditure of magic as soon as the Fiendfyre had disappeared, and he hadn't moved from his spot near the middle of the Alley since then. His friends, Ragnok, a few of Ragnok's elite guards, Dumbledore, Sirius (in his Animagus form), Remus, the rest of the Hogwarts staff, and some Ministry personnel were all congregated around him in a large group.<p>

Diagon Alley was a smoking, charred ruin. More than half of it was a complete loss, and countless innocent men, women, and children had been slaughtered by the Death Eaters. Muggle London was even visible in some places, but the Aurors and Ministry specialists had assured everyone that the Repelling and Notice-Me-Not wards had held.

Amelia Bones Apparated into the Alley with a resounding crack, appearing about ten feet from where Harry was sitting with his friends. All eyes turned toward her. She completed a full 360-degree turn; her mouth dropped open as she came to understand the magnitude of the devastation.

"I came as quickly as I could," she said, quietly. Her eyes tracked the progress of a Mediwitch going from one victim to another, doing some sort of triage. Amelia's normally stern visage was slack with horror.

"I am afraid this is not something the Ministry could have effectively prevented," Dumbledore replied. His voice was laced with sadness. "They came and left quickly, doling out as much death and destruction as they could. The only reason there was any kind of response is because Harry was at Gringotts when they attacked."

Amelia finally focused on the group, eyes immediately landing on Ragnok, who was standing stoically to the side of Harry and his friends.

"King Ragnok?" she questioned.

"Director Bones," he said, nodding his head once toward her.

"I do not think I have ever seen you beyond the halls of Gringotts," Amelia said. "May I ask what brought you out here?"

Harry turned slightly toward the King and they held a silent conversation with their eyes. Hermione was resting her hand on his shoulder and she squeezed as the depth of emotion in his eyes hit her. He was mourning the loss of each and every person in the Alley.

"Lord Potter required assistance in his fight against the Death Eaters and the man who calls himself Voldemort. We aided him and would have dealt the Death Eaters serious damage if only we had been close enough." The sword at his side gleamed in the summer sunlight, which was now fully shining on the Alley once again.

"It seems the era of neutrality is over…" Amelia responded, looking from Ragnok to Daphne and finally to Severus Snape, who was standing with a few other Hogwarts Professors. The sympathies of all of the old families were well-known, and the implications of Daphne Greengrass sitting with Harry's group were not lost upon her.

"Look around," Harry spoke, quietly, though no less powerfully than if he had been shouting into their ears. "Can we afford neutrality anymore? We _must_ be prepared to fight back against this senseless destruction, this _terrorism_, because there won't be anything left if we don't."

"Well said, Harry," Dumbledore broke in.

"Yes," Amelia agreed. "Clearly the game has changed. Would someone mind explaining exactly what happened here?"

"It was a trap," Harry said.

"What do you mean?" Remus asked, though many were looking at Harry like they understood what he had said.

"They were never going to stand and fight. They were never going to let Ragnok and his people get close enough to go to work on them. It was designed to draw us all in until we were past the point of no return and wipe us all out."

"Wipe you out?" Amelia questioned.

When Harry responded, his voice sounded old, much older than his fifteen years.

"Voldemort and the Death Eaters all cast some terrible fire curse at the same time and Disapparated right after. He was never going to fight me, not after what happened in the Ministry. He wanted to wipe me out once and for all. And it almost worked."

"It was Fiendfyre, Amelia," Dumbledore supplied, after she turned toward him with a question in her gaze. "The students were in the middle of the spell, but somehow Harry prevented it from reaching them. There were enough of us in the Alley by then who knew the counter to eventually contain it, but not before several courageous goblin warriors lost their lives to it."

"And they shall be honored by the customs of my race," Ragnok said. "Lord Potter saved my life and the lives of my guards as well. Someday I hope to repay that debt."

Amelia couldn't believe what she was witnessing. The High King of the Goblins had all but declared an alliance with Harry Potter—under normal circumstances such a thing would be illegal, but looking around reminded her these were far from normal times. The commercial center of the British Wizarding world lay in ruins all around her, and it had only been the quick thinking and courage of some students and their teachers that had prevented even more catastrophic damage and loss of life. Voldemort had just upped the ante in this war; this was his return salvo for his loss during the Battle of the Ministry, and it was an order of magnitude more destructive.

"He saved all of our lives, too," Hermione said. How many life debts did she now owe Harry Potter?

"We'll consider all our debts paid when we finish Voldemort," Harry responded, looking at her and sliding his eyes to Ragnok. The King nodded at him.

"Indeed, Lord Potter. I must return to Gringotts and attend to the affairs of my people. There are funeral pyres to be built and songs of passing that must be sung," Ragnok said. He turned to Amelia. "Director Bones, I understand there is a full meeting of the Wizengamot tomorrow. I would like to request an audience with the chamber."

Amelia's eyebrows shot toward her hairline. The last time a goblin had spoken in the Wizengamot was nearly two centuries before, at the end of their last conflict. And now the King, no less, wished to speak.

"Of course, High King. We will surely make time for you."

"Thank you, Director," he said. He spoke in Gobbledygook to his guards and they all started moving toward Gringotts. "You know where to find me, should the need arise, Lord Potter," Ragnok called over his shoulder, stunning everyone once again.

Harry Potter was quickly becoming the de facto leader of the Light in this war.

* * *

><p>Sometime later in the evening, the Order of the Phoenix was once again assembled in the Room of Requirement. The mood was somber and dark; Harry and the six others (including Daphne because Harry had forcefully withstood any opposition to her presence) sat quietly and listened to the adult members discuss what had happened and what the next steps might be. They were still trying to decompress from the battle.<p>

"I do not care what you say, Severus, but this changes everything," Minerva said, staring at her colleague with ice cold eyes. "Who is safe anymore? _Where_ is safe, other than Hogwarts and the most well-protected estates? This war has come to roost whether we like it or not, and we cannot afford to fight from the shadows anymore. Voldemort saw you there today, fighting with us _against_ him. Your usefulness as a spy has ended."

"Be that as it may, Minerva," Snape responded, in softer though no less deadly tones, "we all cannot rush blindly into things and expect our magic to save us every time." He looked at Harry briefly.

"Oh, don't start on that 'foolish Gryffindor rant' of yours again," Minerva huffed, but she was shushed, surprisingly so, by Arthur Weasley.

"Enough of this," he said. "What all of this means in the long run remains to be seen, but I think one thing is evident: we need to train ourselves for this war that is now upon us. I know I have grown quite complacent with battle magic, and we cannot forget that, no matter how powerful Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, and Daphne may be, they are still only students. We cannot hope to overcome Voldemort with Reductors and simple shield spells."

Most were surprised by the man's eloquence, including Ron and Ginny who were looking at their father with something like pride in their eyes. Behind that mild mannered personality was someone who would fight against Voldemort to his dying breath.

"I agree," Dumbledore said, and no one from the Order argued the point. Someone like Dedalus Diggle may have before today, but he had said nothing and was white as a sheet since the memory of the Battle for Diagon had been played for all to see.

"Harry, you've been awfully quiet," Remus said, in the ensuing silence. "And so have the rest of you," he added, looking at the others. "What's with the robes, by the way?"

"Hermione Transfigured our school robes so we wouldn't be recognized," Luna supplied. "It was a good idea."

"Thanks, Luna," Hermione said. "I thought that it would be good to go unrecognized while in the Alley."

"What were you all doing in Diagon Alley, anyway?" Molly asked. She was proud of her children for their bravery but angry at them for their foolishness. She couldn't decide which emotion to express.

In response, Harry held up his right hand, where his Head of House ring was suddenly visible. He raised his eyes from the ring to the Headmaster, who was staring at it with something like worry in his eyes.

"Headmaster," Harry said, slowly, lowering his hand back to the table, "you and I…we have much to discuss."

"Yes, I think we do," Dumbledore responded, carefully.

Arthur suddenly stood from his chair and walked around the table to where Harry was sitting. He kneeled before the young man.

"Arthur?" Molly asked.

"Lord Potter, in times of war the Weasley family has always stood with the Potters. I would like to renew that ancient pledge and align myself with your family."

"There's no need to kneel, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied. "For what it's worth, I accept your pledge, though Ron did the same in your stead earlier today."

Arthur nodded and stood, looking at Ron. "Good boy." Ron flushed under the praise from his father.

"This adulation sickens me," Snape said.

"Get over yourself, Professor Snape," Daphne returned, quite heatedly. She kept replaying the scene in her head: the Fiendfyre rushing toward them and suddenly Harry threw up that magnificent shield and saved them all. It was ridiculous what he could do, but she had seen the proof with her own eyes.

Snape was too shocked to even respond.

"It's not adulation. It's common sense. Who else will lead us in this war? The Headmaster?" she scoffed. "No offense, but you're a little too _big picture_ for your own good, Professor Dumbledore. The Lord Potter has the raw magical talent—and the reasons—to stand against Voldemort. We need to all work together, but we need a general too. And I for one believe Harry _is_ our general and has been for a while now."

"You better keep your hands off my boyfriend," Hermione said, obviously in jest. It finally broke some of the tension in the room, as a few smiles forced themselves onto several faces. Sirius, being Sirius, guffawed and slapped Remus on the back.

"I think that is enough for tonight," Dumbledore eventually said. "The seven of you will be at Hogwarts for about another week; in that time, we will figure out some kind of program for you this summer."

"Headmaster," Harry said, "will you stay behind? We need to have a chat that can't really wait…"

"Of course, Harry."

The meeting broke up and everyone went their separate ways to deal with the events of the day. All that remained in the Room of Requirement five minutes later were the Headmaster and the seven students. Molly had wanted Ron and Ginny to come with her and Arthur so they could talk as well, but Arthur had finally overruled her when Harry requested they stay with him.

Dumbledore was standing at the head of the table, looking at the assembled students, trying to get a read on them. Their eyes were unusually cold—perhaps it was some form of post-traumatic stress.

He watched as Harry looked from face to face, drawing some kind of silent support from his lieutenants, as they would surely be known. Finally, he met Dumbledore's eyes.

"Albus, have a seat," Lord Potter said.


	12. Consequences

**Chapter 12: Consequences**

Albus Dumbledore sat heavily in his chair. Normally he would not tolerate a student calling him by his given name, but this particular conversation was a long time coming, and any way Harry chose to address him, he probably deserved it. The last fifteen years flashed before Dumbledore's eyes, and he could not deny that he had made one colossal mistake after another regarding Harry Potter. He closed his eyes as he finally understood how much he'd let the prophecy consume him. Yet there was the still the matter of the Horcrux in Harry's scar…

To suggest sacrifice now would be suicidal, even for Dumbledore. Harry was rapidly becoming the general of the war, and it seemed to suit him well. He certainly had the power to do well in the position, and the leadership capabilities. He could inspire those around him like no one else.

"Why did you leave me with the Dursleys?" Harry eventually asked, after a long silence. The other six teenagers simply watched.

"It was necessary for your safety," Dumbledore responded, repeating the old mantra even though he knew it wouldn't satisfy Harry.

"I don't believe you," Harry said.

"Be that as it may, your mother sacrificed herself for you and this created a powerful blood protection—"

"We've all heard that story," Hermione said, cutting him off. Albus closed his mouth with an audible click. "And even if that is actually true at the Dursleys, there were other, better places for Harry to go that were just as safe, regardless of the familial blood protection."

"I'm not so sure…" Albus started, but trailed off at Hermione's raised eyebrow.

"How about here at Hogwarts? You had assumed guardianship anyway, so it was not out of the question. Or how about with Neville and his grandmother? From what I learned today, the Longbottom estate is as well protected as Hogwarts."

"I wanted Harry to grow up away from the pressures of his fame." Even to Dumbledore, these same, tired responses were starting to sound very thin.

"But that was _not_ your decision to make," Harry said, voice a little lower now. "What did my parents' will say about where I was supposed to go?"

"It was never read," Albus responded. "It was locked in your family vault and with you gone from the Wizarding world, the goblins had no ability to retrieve it."

"That makes absolutely no sense," Neville said. He had certainly changed over the past several days, and also over the past year. Becoming friends with Harry had done wonders for his confidence and self-esteem. "_You_ removed him from our world, which means you effectively blocked his parents' will from being read. And you're also the _Chief Warlock_ of the Wizengamot. You could have had their will unsealed if you wanted."

"So, the question remains, why did you send me to the Dursleys, Albus?" Harry asked again. "What are you not telling us? Even now that we know the prophecy, it still feels there is something you're not telling me."

Albus took off his glasses and placed them on the table. He placed his wand—the Elder Wand—next to them and looked at the relics of his life for a moment. He was the so-called Leader of the Light yet he had all but condemned this young man in front of him to martyrdom; and now he was considering telling all seven of them about some of the foulest magic in the universe.

But there was no other course of action at this point. With exceedingly sharp people at his side like Hermione and Luna, Harry would eventually recognize the pattern and begin to put the pieces together himself. And woe to the world when Harry Potter—the only mage on the planet—realized he'd been groomed as a sacrificial lamb his whole life. Better to get this over with now…

Albus just hoped Hogwarts was still standing when they were through.

"Did you ever wonder why Voldemort did not die that Halloween night?" Albus asked, looking at each of the students in front of him in turn.

Several nodded. Harry simply pierced him with his green eyes. "There is an old magic, a dark magic, an _ugly_ magic, that allowed Voldemort's soul to persist even after his body was gone," Dumbledore started. He took a deep breath.

"Headmaster, surely you don't mean…" Daphne started, looking sick and frightened.

Albus nodded, wondering at the same time how she could know of such things. "I mean the Horcrux. This knowledge is nearly lost in our world, and for good reason, so I ask you to keep it to yourselves. A Horcrux is an object in which part of the soul has been placed, anchoring it to this plane and preventing the total death of the caster should their body be destroyed."

"But…that's…why would anyone want to do that?" Ginny questioned. "Splitting their soul? So you'd only have half a soul?"

"Exactly," Dumbledore nodded. "The creation of a Horcrux requires cold-blooded murder, which causes enough damage to the soul to split it; combined an object that had been prepared, the Horcrux magic allows the soul to be enchanted into that object."

Harry looked like he had a foul taste in his mouth, which was definitely an appropriate reaction.

"So when Tom told me in the Chamber of Secrets he had 'gone farther down the road to immortality' than anyone else, was he implying he created more than one of these things?" Harry asked, surprising Albus with his insight. For some reason, he hadn't thought Harry would latch on to what the specter of sixteen year old Voldemort had said so quickly.

"Precisely, Harry. I believe that's exactly what he meant."

"That's terrible," Neville said, grimacing at the thought of what Voldemort had become. He was barely human.

"How many?" Hermione asked. "How many do you think he created?"

"Impossible to say for sure, but certainly more than one, since Harry already destroyed one."

"I did?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised. A pause, then: "The Diary? _That_ was a Horcrux?"

Albus nodded. "Sentient memories are usually good indicators of Horcruxes, since they're essentially a snapshot of the soul at the time they were created. Beyond that, though, it's likely Voldemort wanted a magically powerful number, such as three or seven."

"He split his soul _six_ times?" The question came from more than one of the students at the same time.

Albus had been dreading this part… He cleared his throat. "Perhaps seven, actually."

"But, that would make eight Horcruxes, correct?" Ron asked. "You just said he may have wanted to make seven."

"Six _intentional_ Horcruxes, therefore rendering his soul into seven pieces. However, as I said, the creation of a Horcrux takes cold-blooded murder, something which he did at the end of the last war."

An absolute silence settled over the Room as the students absorbed and processed this information. From the looks on their faces, Hermione, Daphne, and Harry understood the implication before the others. Albus watched with a trembling heart as Harry slowly reached up to his forehead, brushing his fingertips over his scar.

"I'm one, aren't I?" he whispered. "I'm the seventh, unintentional Horcrux." It was said with a fatal, resigned understanding. His friends all looked at him with shock, concern, and sadness. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. Albus couldn't hear what she was saying, but she was whispering something to Harry, presumably words of comfort.

"But you said it takes a prepared object to create a Horcrux?" Luna asked, thinking back to the beginning of the conversation. "How is it possible to unintentionally create one?"

For once, Dumbledore did not have the answer, though he certainly had a few educated guesses.

"I cannot say for sure, Luna. Something about the magic in the room that night caused the Killing Curse to reflect back at Voldemort, severing his soul from his body and splitting it once again. Perhaps he had intended to make another that night—perhaps that was to be his sixth and final Horcrux? But with the Killing Curse rebounding, he wouldn't have had any chance to prepare an object; and with James and Lily already dearly departed, the soul fragment latched onto the only available thing in the room."

"Me," Harry said, still touching his scar. "That's why I can feel his emotions sometimes, and why I have those dreams and visions. That's why I could see what happened to Mr. Weasley—the bloody snake! That must be another Horcrux!"

Suddenly Harry was agitated, distracted even, as if his thoughts were racing a thousand miles an hour. He stood and began pacing behind his friends, who all turned in their seats to look at him. He ran a hand quickly through his dark hair.

"And that's why I needed to go the Dursleys, right? That's why all of the knowledge of my heritage and my power and everything else—the prophecy and Horcruxes—were kept from me, correct? Because I'm the child of the prophecy and only I can defeat Voldemort, but with me being a Horcrux as well, it means I must die in order for Voldemort to die."

The other six teenagers gasped and cried out. Hermione stood to go to Harry.

"'Neither can live while the other survives'—it all makes sense now. The abuse at the Dursleys, keeping me in the dark my whole life, ignoring me for the past year, not training me to fight when Voldemort keeps coming back for me time and time again…"

He trailed off and stopped, looking straight at Albus. Those emerald eyes pierced directly to Albus's soul and he could feel Harry's overwhelming sense of disappointment in him, more than any other emotion. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, but he shrugged them off.

"You were grooming me to walk willingly to my death, weren't you? You wanted me to become a martyr and havie nothing good in my life to bother fighting for? You thought if you could break me down I would sacrifice myself for the greater good of the world?" He suddenly pulled Hermione into an embrace from where she'd been standing after he rebuffed her hug.

"Too late, Albus. It's too late for that. I have a life and world and a legacy to fight for now, and you can't ever take that away from me. But this Horcrux has to go."

Albus nodded sadly. At least Harry wasn't exploding in rage and leveling all of Northern Scotland.

"There's only one way to do that, Harry…and there's no guarantee it won't do so much more…" Albus responded. He could see the understanding in Harry's eyes, who kissed Hermione lightly and stepped back from their embrace, putting some distance between him and everyone else. All eyes were riveted on Harry.

"I have enough hatred in my heart for Voldemort to do it, Albus. I couldn't ask this of anyone else."

Harry drew his wand and, before anyone could react, pointed it at his own face.

"Harry, what—!" Hermione started, alarmed.

The Boy-Who-Lived closed his eyes. His wand tip shone bright green.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

* * *

><p>Two light raps sounded on the door. John Hansen, Director of the CIA, looked up from his work and called out, "Enter!"<p>

The door swung in to reveal his British counterpart, Bill Langford. Hansen's eyebrows crept up his forehead of their own accord. An unscheduled visit by the Director of MI5 always proved interesting.

"Bill? I didn't know you were coming over here this morning," John said, standing and moving around his desk to the shake the head of British domestic intelligence. Both men wore dark business suits with white shirts and dark ties. Bill was in his late 50s with close-cropped, graying hair; John had hit 60 earlier that year and was mostly bald. Both men wore glasses.

"I didn't know either until very early this morning," he responded, shaking John's hand and taking the offered seat. John returned to the other side of his desk and sat in his office chair.

It was about 9:30am on the east coast of the United States, and Bill had gained several hours traveling from Britain to the U.S., so he'd likely left London around 6 that morning.

"What can I do for MI5 today?" John asked. He watched as Bill silently considered the question for a moment, clearly needing to decide how to phrase what he wanted to say. Bill was usually a very direct, very honest person, so this made the visit even more interesting.

"We have never personally discussed it…but what do you know about Protocol M?"

John's eyes widened a little and he sat back in his chair. Protocol M had been the biggest surprise of his career—by the time he'd reached the office of the Director, he assumed he had full security clearance for all of the nation's classified intelligence. However, he was visited by the then head of the NSA and the President of the United States soon after taking office, at which time they presented him with a final level of security clearance. This included the truth about the research at Area 51, the ongoing construction of a mining facility on the dark side of the moon, and Protocol M.

Protocol M made the knowledge of lunar mining activity seem rather bland, since it meant there was effectively a secret society of very powerful—_magical_—human beings living within the wider world. Knowledge of this magical society had been lost to the mundane world centuries earlier when the magical societies had collectively ratified the International Statue of Secrecy, making their world invisible (or nearly) from the rest of the world. It was necessary for their survival because, although quite powerful as wielders of the mystical magic, mundane humans far outnumbered magical humans.

Beyond that initial conversation with the Director of the NSA and the President, John had never openly discussed Protocol M with anyone. It was classified way beyond Top Secret and the penalty was treason—punishable by death—if he revealed it to anyone beyond a small group of global governmental elites. No one wanted a war with the magical people, and that's likely exactly what the world would get if they were revealed. Humans are fickle creatures and fear or ignorance—or both—drives them to do stupid, irrational things.

"Just what I was told when I took office," John eventually responded. "Just the basics—where they are, what they can do, the overall structure of their societies."

Bill nodded. "Same here. And normally that would be enough. It _has _been enough for several hundred years now."

"But not anymore?" John asked, sensing Bill's tone.

Bill shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Something happened yesterday that is forcing our hand." He reached into the briefcase at his feet and pulled out two large, glossy pieces of paper. He glanced at them and handed them over to John.

John immediately knew they were infrared satellite photos of some kind. The telltale pinks and blues and all the colors in between showed warmer and colder areas; it also appeared to be some kind of urban area—London, probably, since Bill was MI5 after all. However, what captured his attention was the shockingly _white_ area of color near the center of the image. White was the hottest infrared cameras were able to distinguish, which was far hotter than should have existed in the middle of metropolitan London. One photo was a wide shot and the other was a magnified version of the same, focusing on the hot zone.

"What's with all this blurring around the hottest area?" John asked, tracing the edge of the blurring in the image with his finger. It was more or a less a long, thick, crooked line.

"That's Diagon Alley," Bill supplied. John nodded, having suspected the same. His knowledge of Protocol M included the main locations of Wizarding societies in developed nations, and Diagon Alley was one of them. Normally, satellite photos did not pick up anything where Diagon Alley and other magically protected locations were; here, though, something was disturbing that protection. Something very _hot_.

"So what the hell is this? Some kind of inferno? How could something be so hot in the middle of London?"

Bill shrugged. "No one knows yet. Our contacts in Britain's magical government have been mum so far—apparently they're on complete lockdown and have been for a few days now. I was able to get my hands on this, though," Bill said, reaching into his briefcase once again and retrieving a folded newspaper.

He passed it to John, who opened it and watched, mesmerized, at the moving picture—recording, really—on the front page. There was some kind of huge light show happening, which concluded with a teenager blowing the arm off an ugly, bald, slit-nosed man. Then it restarted. The paper was called _The Daily Prophet_.

"I think you'll find that whole paper very interesting reading. And I also think we need to meet with some of the folks mentioned in those pages."

* * *

><p>Everything was white. All around was formless, colorless, nothingness. When Harry had opened his eyes, he found he was on his back, fully encompassed by whiteness. He was also naked and without his glasses.<p>

He sat up and looked around. More nothingness. Was this the afterlife? Had he actually killed himself with that Killing Curse? He had only wanted to eliminate the Horcrux, but it seemed like he may have done more than that. He found himself thinking of Hermione, whom he'd left standing there as he casted the dread magic at his own face.

He wished for some pants at least as he stood, and he watched as a pair of athletic shorts faded into existence on the ground next to him. He reached down and pulled them on; just as he covered himself, a voice startled him and he jumped, whirling around.

"That was unbelievably foolish of you, Harry. Unbelievably brave, too, but utterly stupid."

The speaker was a young, red-haired woman with emerald green eyes. She wore a white toga that accentuated the freckles on her shoulders. Behind her and to the side was a man that looked remarkably like Harry.

"Mum? Dad?" he asked, shocked to find them here yet happy as well. He had no real memories of his parents other than the night they were murdered. To actually see them and talk to them was a deepest desire come true.

"Yes, Harry, it's us, and we're real," Lily Potter said, stepping forward and opening her arms to her son. He also stepped forward and they embraced, and soon they were both weeping. James joined the hug after a few seconds and an indeterminate time passed as the Potters held each other.

Finally Lily and James pulled out of the embrace. All three Potters looked at each other for another moment, taking in the sight of their family. Lily shook her head as if to clear it and reached for Harry, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

"Seems to have worked, son," James said. "Your scar is only a faint ghost of what it once was."

"But didn't I just kill myself, too?" Harry queried. Otherwise, how had he arrived here?

"Not quite," Lily said. "If you had, I'd be extremely angry with you, Harry James Potter!"

A great weight lifted from Harry's shoulders—so he wasn't dead, and this was only temporary. That meant the Horcrux was gone and he was technically still alive! It had worked!

He smiled sheepishly. "Once I put it all together I couldn't bear to have that parasite in my head any longer," he explained. "I acted, as I often do, without fully thinking it through. And as I said, I would never ask anyone else to do that for me."

"We know, Harry," James said. "And don't mistake our fear of it having gone wrong for lack of pride in or love for you. We have watched you your whole life as you overcame obstacle after obstacle, including life with the Dursleys, with love in your heart and honor in your actions. You are a true Potter and you are definitely your mother's son."

Harry blushed a little. "Thanks, dad."

James smiled; Lily spoke next: "Our time here is short, but we wanted you to know that we're very sorry for not being there for you through your life, but you now know that we're always with you. You carry a piece of us with you wherever you go, and we're always watching over you."

Lily paused, smiled, and drew Harry into a soft hug. "And you should also know we approve of Hermione and the rest of your good friends. What you all can accomplish together is nothing less than the impossible; stick with each other and you _will_ win this war."

"Yes, Harry, you have been gifted with great power and so far you have used it wisely," James added. "But now you must train and learn to control it and wield it properly, for even though Voldemort may not be as powerful, he is a formidable wizard and has decades of experience over you and your friends."

Harry nodded. "I plan to train this summer as much as I can. I don't think I'll be going back to the Dursleys now that I'm Lord Potter, and now that this Horcrux is out of my head. And Dumbledore couldn't make me even if he tried."

"Many of the Potter properties have excellent training facilities," Lily said, reaching for James's hand and squeezing it. "You should speak with your new friend, King Ragnok, about what you have access to as Lord Potter. Also," she continued, "don't be too hard on Dumbledore. James and I have unfinished business with him we will settle once he eventually crosses over, but I think that his heart and his mind are both finally in the right place. He is a wellspring of knowledge, magical power, and political influence, and you should use him to your benefit to win this war."

"I will, mum. If AK'ing myself worked—and apparently it did—I was going to let bygones be bygones with Albus and start over, with the assumption that there would be no more secrets between us."

"A mature and reasonable course of action," James said.

"It's about time for you to return, Harry," Lily said, drawing him into another embrace. She passed him off to James who also hugged Harry again.

"Will I see you two again?" Harry asked, already feeling slightly disconnected from his surroundings. It was hard to focus on his parents.

"Hopefully not for at _least_ a century," came Lily's voice, from very far away.

"Stay true to yourself, Harry," James added.

"Love and be loved," Lily said. "Know that we love you with all of our hearts." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper now. Harry felt like he was being sucked backward.

"Love you too, mum and dad," he responded, as the world around him went dark. Abruptly, the backward motion ceased and he felt the sensation of lying on his back again. This time, though, it felt like a bed.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into the concerned face of Hermione Granger, surrounded by the halo of afternoon light that was streaming into the Hospital Wing.

He flinched as she slapped him and a stinging sensation exploded across the side of his face, but he held on to her tightly as she then collapsed, sobbing, on top of him.

"It's ok, Hermione," he whispered. "I'm back."


	13. Wizengamot

**Chapter 13: Wizengamot**

As Harry remained in his Avada Kedavra-induced slumber the morning after he fired the green curse at his own face, the movers and shakers in the Wizarding world convened an emergency session of the Wizengamot to address the surprising and calamitous occurrences of the past several days. Dumbledore, newly reinstated as Chief Warlock, presided over the session; Amelia Bones, Director of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, attended as acting Minister for Magic, though only a select few individuals knew that before the session started. It would be a Wizengamot for the ages, with Cornelius Fudge and other top officials revealed as Death Eaters, Ragnok's wish to attend and address the assembly, and the general fear and shock over what Voldemort had orchestrated in Diagon Alley.

Dumbledore arrived early to a chamber that was already filling with witches and wizards. Attendance for Wizengamot sessions was usually spotty at best, but due to the confluence of recent events and the Chief Warlock's emergency summons, it looked like just about every seat would be filled by the opening gavel at eight o'clock. As he ascended to the Chief Warlock's chair on the platform for top officials, his thoughts turned to Harry.

He had expected Harry to be angrier, and in many ways the disappointment he'd felt from Harry was worse than Harry going nuclear. Dumbledore would never truly understand how much damage he'd done to Harry's childhood, but he was starting to see how his single-mindedness and arrogance had cost a child his innocence. In his heart of hearts he still thought Harry had been too young for the knowledge of what he would have to do and what had resided in his scar, but he was coming to understand that Harry was selfless, brave, tough, and a host of other adjectives that largely negated his reservations.

The fact that Harry had shot a Killing Curse at his own face to rid the world of one more piece of Voldemort, while impulsive, was a testament to his courage. Dumbledore had been reasonably sure the Avada Kedavra would kill only Voldemort's soul fragment and not Harry as well, but not sure enough to actually carry out the act himself. It was cowardly, he knew, but what if he had killed Harry? Harry made it moot point, though, and Dumbledore expected him to wake later that day. Poppy had assured everyone he was perfectly healthy and just in some kind of magically-induced slumber as his core recharged.

The Chief Warlock's wandering thoughts returned to the room before him as two Aurors closed the main doors, signaling it was time for the session to begin. Amelia sat to his left in her usual chair; the Minister's chair to his right was conspicuously empty, and Dumbledore knew many in the room were curious about the Minister's whereabouts.

He rose from his chair and approached the podium; a hush fell over the gathered magicals. He gazed seriously at them over the top of his spectacles, hoping they were somewhat able to deal with the series of shocks that would be thrown at them today.

"My fellow Wizengamot members, I welcome you to our eleven thousand four hundred forty-fifth session, and our three hundred and twenty second emergency session. I am glad to see you all heeded the emergency summons and made it on time this morning. As you are well aware, we have suffered two shocking and, in the case of the latter, devastating attacks on our community by the wizard known as Lord Voldemort."

Cue the appropriate gasps, flinches, and "Oh mys!" Dumbledore really had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the Wizengamot. He'd been preaching for years that fear of the name only increased fear of the thing itself, but very few people had listened to him. He could count on two hands those who could say the name without stuttering or pausing or looking around nervously as if Voldemort would appear just because his name was uttered.

"It can no longer be denied, as hard and as long as this government wanted to deny it, that the so-called Dark Lord has returned from whatever exile his spirit managed after Halloween 1981. And it can also no longer be denied that Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse that night not by fluke of fate, but instead by sheer will and destiny."

At the noises of consternation he heard coming from the more conservative members of the assembly—coincidentally the ones who probably secretly supported Voldemort, or at least his ideals—he held up his hand for silence once again.

"I will remind you that he has now faced this 'Dark Lord' six times and fought him to victory or draw every time. Not even I have stood against Voldemort so many times. But the issue here is not whether Harry Potter has deserved the animosity and the ugly way you have treated him during his time at Hogwarts—it is instead _what_ we are going to do as a government and a society to stand against this canker sore, this evil rotting us from the inside. For if we do nothing, good men and women will die and magical Britain will fade away into tyranny, poverty, and desolation."

The ghost of Dumbledore's words trailed around the circular chamber as they all considered what he'd said. He hadn't planned any of it ahead of time, but it had the desired effect. They were all paying more attention now than they had been five minutes ago.

"Our first order of business is, in an indirect way, the empty seat you see before you. I relinquish the floor to Amelia Bones, Director of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement." He turned and, with a nod to Amelia, returned to his seat. He watched her back as she took a deep breath and adjusted her monocle. Then, she gripped the sides of the podium and stilled, staring at the assembly.

"It is with a heavy heart that I announce the deaths of fifty nine witches and wizards yesterday in the conflagration in Diagon Alley, with another seventy one injured. Take this moment of silence with me as we mourn the passing of too many of our loved ones, friends, and colleagues."

Silence spread across the chamber once again. Putting an actual number to the casualties Voldemort caused in the Alley should make even more of the Wizengamot realize this was no game anymore: Voldemort had struck the first major blow in this new war and it was up to them to respond.

Suddenly Amelia smacked the podium, which was amplified due to the area-of-effect Sonorous charm on it. The loud noise resounded startlingly through the chamber.

"I hope all of you in this room are beginning to realize exactly what Voldemort is and always has been," she all but growled. Now she was angry. Dumbledore just watched the faces around the room. "He is nothing but a _terrorist_," she said, paraphrasing what Harry had said the day before. "And how have we responded to this terrorist over the past year? We have enabled him to grow his forces, spread his terrible bigotry, and lay the opening salvo in what could be a long, bloody war. All because of our inaction!

"But no more! On this day, our apathy ends and our journey to a better, more tolerant world begins." She turned slightly toward the empty chair on Dumbledore's right. "And that journey begins with the vacant chair you see next to the Chief Warlock. You are all wondering where our _esteemed_ Minister is, no doubt?"

She left the question hanging in the air for maximum effect. No one dared respond to the rhetorical question.

"Aurors, bring in the prisoners!" she called.

A door slammed opened from the side of the lowest riser, on the floor of the chamber. The implication was shocking enough that most of the Wizengamot stood to get a better look.

An Auror emerged from the door, followed closely by the heads of the government revealed as Death Eaters in the War Room: Yaxley, Rookwood, Thicknesse, and, finally, Fudge himself. The Minister's shackled and down-trodden appearance caused an immediate uproar across the chamber. People were shouting and pointing that did not know ahead of time this would happen, which was most of the chamber, so it was quite a crescendo of noise that erupted as a second Auror appeared after Fudge. All four prisoners were chained to each other and appeared to be silenced, since Yaxley at least was shouting but no noise was forthcoming.

"What is the meaning of this?" someone shouted above the rest. Dumbledore stood and moved next to Amelia—the whole session would devolve into complete chaos if he did not act.

"_Silence!_" he commanded, shooting off deep red sparks from his wand and letting loose some of his magic for all to feel. The noise was somewhat dampened and many returned to their seats, but the overall feeling in the chamber was still very restless and unsettled.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock. I had hoped our brothers and sisters would show a little more decorum, but I see my expectations were too high for even this lofty assembly," Amelia said, subtly appealing to their dignified, arrogant standings. "These four prisoners stand accused of high treason against the magical government of the United Kingdom; they are so accused because they all four harbor the Dark Mark on the insides of their left forearms, which signifies support of and service to Voldemort, the so-called Dark Lord, and the number one enemy of the state. Aligning oneself with him is sedition against this government, and the punishment for insurrection—the intent to start a war against one's own nation—is death by Killing Curse."

The Aurors sat the prisoners in the four chairs that had magically appeared in the center of the floor; magical chains snaked up and over their arms and legs, further binding and restricting them. Yaxley was red in the face and looked furious; Rookwood was emotionless; Thicknesse was crying; and Fudge was white as a sheet. One-by-one, an Auror ripped back their sleeves, exposing the Dark Marks for the chamber to see. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as everyone shuddered at the implication—if the highest level of the government was corrupted by Voldemort, what hope did they have?

Dumbledore thought they all had more than enough hope, considering what Harry and his friends had managed in the last several days, and they could potentially have a lot more after this session was over. For now, the trash had to be taken out; he was watching the assembled Wizengamot members closely, looking for any reaction that would suggest they were complicit with Voldemort as well. So far, if there were other Death Eaters in the crowd, they were hiding it well.

"Master Hobard, please come forward," Amelia called. From another door on the other side of the chamber, an older wizard entered wearing robes of deepest emerald. He was carrying four small vials. "Potions Master Hobard was selected by this government to provide Veritaserum for these four trials due to his long history of fairness and impartiality. Are there any objections to him administering and monitoring the Truth serum?"

"How do you know they don't have the counter agent in their systems?" someone asked.

Hobard stepped forward. "Due to the fact that they have been detained for longer than the counter agent could remain in their systems. I have been carefully monitoring and controlling their food for this purpose since they were arrested."

No one raised any more objections, so Hobard stepped forward and administered the serum to Yaxley after he was immobilized. After everyone could see the telltale glassy eyes, he was freed and un-silenced.

"Are you Jonathan Yaxley?" Amelia asked.

"Yes," came the monotone reply.

"You stand accused of conspiring against the magical government of the United Kingdom, taking the sign of the so-called Dark Lord Voldemort known as the Dark Mark, and attempting to incite insurrection against the homeland. Do you deny the presence of the Dark Mark on your left forearm?"

"No, I do not deny it."

"Were you marked by Voldemort willingly?"

"Yes."

"What did you have to do to take the Mark?"

"Torture and kill a Muggle family. I _Crucio_ed the father until he choked on his own tongue, disemboweled the son, and raped both the mother and the daughter. When I finished with them, I put out their useless, sloppy existences with two Killing Curses."

There were some quiet noises of displeasure, but otherwise everyone was listening with rapt attention. Dumbledore ordinarily would not have wanted these prisoners executed—rather imprisoned—but hearing firsthand what Yaxley had done to "earn" his Dark Mark had silenced that voice in his head.

"Do you support Voldemort in his war against the current government of magical United Kingdom?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Amelia asked, and this was a tricky question. Sometimes even Veritaserum couldn't sort such a philosophical, existential query.

"We have allowed our traditions to be corrupted by the half-bloods, the Mudbloods, and the disgusting Muggles. They should be exterminated or made our slaves. Only Purebloods should have the right to wield magic and participate in our everyday life."

On a different day, that kind of rhetoric may have found some support in a chamber that was at least half-filled with Purebloods or those who supported the old ways; but there would be no such support for a confessed rapist and murderer.

Amelia turned her eyes from Yaxley toward the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot. "Members of the Wizengamot, please light your wand if, based on the evidence before you, Jonathan Yaxley should be convicted of treason and sentenced to death." Amelia and Dumbledore both raised and lit their wands, as did the vast majority of the members. Only two lit their wands for not guilty and only seven more abstained. Dumbledore knew it would be unfair to single out the two that had voted not guilty out for further scrutiny, but war was not fair. The DMLE would likely keep a close eye on them…

"Jonathan Yaxley, you have been found guilty of treason by an overwhelming majority. You are therefore sentenced to death for this highest of crimes. Executioner, please carry out the sentence."

A new man, dressed in white robes with a hood that obscured his face, entered the chamber from a side door; he drew his wand as he moved toward Yaxley. The serum was starting to wear off, though, and Yaxley was fighting at his bonds. He eyes turned from glassy to panicked. The white-robed executioner pointed his wand at Yaxley's face.

Dumbledore didn't think Yaxley would survive a Killing Curse to the face.

"No!" Yaxley shouted, fear causing his voice to crack pitifully.

"_Avada Kedavra_," the executioner intoned, emotionlessly. The green curse jumped the ten feet between them in no time at all. Yaxley slumped in the chair, his eyes open wide in the thousand-yard stare of death.

Fudge promptly retched all over himself.

* * *

><p>The trials of Rookwood and Thicknesse proceeded in much the same way. Both took the Marks willingly and both had to torture and slaughter a Muggle family to earn them. That both men also admitted to raping the females in the family before killing them contributed to the developing pattern, which placed Muggles on the lowest part of the magical totem pole and Muggle women beneath even that. The sense of entitlement sickened Dumbledore, but he did his best to hide it. The executioner—Croaker, he knew, of the Department of Mysteries—loosed two more Killing Curses before the eyes of the chamber turned to the former (assumed former, anyway) Minister for Magic.<p>

By this time, Fudge was a quivering, white-faced, puke-covered mess. The pompous man had regressed into exactly what the confessed Death Eaters had hated so much—a disgustingly "normal" human being with no dignity left whatsoever. Fudge was immobilized and the Truth Serum was administered for the fourth and final time.

"Are you Cornelius Oswald Fudge?" Amelia asked.

"Yes," Fudge replied, in the flat voice of someone on Veritaserum.

"You stand accused of conspiring against the magical government of the United Kingdom, taking the sign of the so-called Dark Lord Voldemort known as the Dark Mark, and attempting to incite insurrection against the homeland. That you did all of this while the Chief Executive Officer of our nation compounds the charges against you. Do you deny the presence of the Dark Mark on your left forearm?"

"No."

"Were you marked by Voldemort willingly?"

"Yes."

"What did you have to do to take the Mark?"

"Torture and kill a Muggle family. I used Severing charms to behead the mother and father, but the Dark Lord wanted me to 'savor' the children, so he told me to _Crucio_ the three daughters until their voices broke. So I did. Then I was informed of the tradition of raping the Muggle females before killing them, so I raped the three daughters and killed them with Asphyxiation curses."

"And you did all of that willingly?" Amelia asked, her voice wavering slightly. Dumbledore couldn't believe Fudge of all people had it in him to commit such terrible acts. All this time he had believed the former Minister to be a pompous windbag, a man of inaction, and ultimately someone who had no true allegiance to anything except to money.

"Yes."

"Do you support Voldemort in his war against the current government of magical United Kingdom?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"The Dark Lord promised me money and power—more money and more power than I already have as Minister for Magic. He also has the means and the ambition to root out the infestation of Mudbloods and Muggles, something which I have desired strongly since I was a child. We are a proud race and we should keep our traditions."

"Members of the Wizengamot, please light your wand if, based on the evidence before you, Cornelius Oswald Fudge should be convicted of treason and sentenced to death," Amelia said, calling for the fourth and final vote. Every single wand in the room was lit; Fudge clearly had no friends left in the Ministry.

"Cornelius Oswald Fudge, you have been found guilty of treason by an absolute majority. You are therefore stripped of your title as Minister for Magic and sentenced to death for this highest of crimes. Executioner, please carry out the sentence."

Surely, this day would go down in infamy. The Chief Executive of a nation was about to be executed for attempting to incite war against his own country—how many times had that happened throughout history? Dumbledore knew there were other occurrences, but nothing so blatant stuck out in his mind.

As Croaker raised his wand toward the now blubbering former Minister, Dumbledore heard Amelia mutter, "And may the gates of Hell swing wide upon your arrival."

The Killing Curse flashed from Croaker's wand. Fudge's soulless body crumpled forward, the restraints of the chair the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor.

"Aurors, please remove the bodies of the executed," Amelia called. All eyes watched in pure silence as the four Aurors removed the bindings and levitated the corpses, exiting the chamber with their burdens in tow. The bodies would be kept in stasis in Ministry holding cells until proper disposal was arranged.

"Thank you for your service on this blackest of days, Executioner. It is a sad day when we must call upon you."

Croaker bowed slightly toward Amelia before striding from the chamber. All that was left in his wake was a shell-shocked Wizengamot. They had just witnessed their first live executions since the height of the first war, and those executions had never been of highly-placed government officials, let alone the former Minister for Magic.

Amelia sat and Dumbledore once again stood before the podium.

"Now we face the task of finding a new Minister for Magic," Dumbledore started. "Nominations must be called and seconded, and once all nominations have been made, we will reconvene here tomorrow morning at the same time to cast our votes—"

"Albus Dumbledore!" someone called. "I nominate Albus Dumbledore!"

"Seconded!"

Funny how just a few days ago they were all willing to believe Dumbledore was a senile old man with an unhealthy interest in a teenaged boy… The man in question suppressed a wry smile and shook his head as noises of assent joined the two voices.

"I abstain from candidacy," Dumbledore announced. "Hogwarts is where my heart is, and I am too busy being the Chief Warlock and the Supreme Mugwump to be the Minister as well. Would that not be a conflict of interest anyway?"

"I nominate Amelia Bones," the Dowager Longbottom called, standing from her seat and looking around the chamber.

"Seconded," Dumbledore announced. There were calls of "thirded" and "fourthed" and so on, and soon there was a wave of support for Amelia swelling in the chamber. Dumbledore glanced back at her and she raised an eyebrow at him. This time he did not suppress the smug smile. He thought she would be nominated and as soon as he seconded her, he knew she would receive the lion's share of support, even if she was fairly liberal—socially, at least.

"Are there any other nominations?" Dumbledore asked. He expected several more people to either nominate others or themselves, but after thirty seconds of waiting, he thought he might be mistaken. Everyone was looking at each other now, as if silently asking who else should be nominated.

"Final call—are there any other nominations for Minister for Magic?"

Dumbledore waited for another thirty seconds with no response. "Then that makes my job easy," he said. "All in favor of Amelia Bones for Minister for Magic, light your wands."

Dumbledore lit his wand, as did the vast majority of the chamber. There were only nine that abstained from the vote.

"By the power vested in me as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot of the magical government of the United Kingdom, I hereby appoint Amelia Susan Bones to Minister for Magic, with the support of the clear majority of the Wizengamot. Amelia, do you swear to uphold the laws of the land?"

Amelia stood and faced Dumbledore.

"I do hereby swear to uphold the laws of the land."

"Do you swear to govern by the rights and responsibilities concomitant with the position of Minister for Magic?"

"I do hereby swear."

"May I present Minister for Magic, Amelia Susan Bones! Hear, hear!" Dumbledore called, standing back and letting Amelia take the podium once again. There were some cries of "Hear, hear!" around the chamber, and Amelia waited until they quieted down to make her first address as the Minister for Magic.

"Thank you. I am honored by your nomination and support in our time of need and I hope to overcome the aspersions cast upon this position by the former Minister." She raised the sleeves of her robe. "In my first act as Minister, I prove to you all that I am no Death Eater, nor could I ever be. Voldemort killed most of my family. If our national security was not already of utmost importance to me, you could rest assured this fight against Voldemort is personal as well. I ask you as Minister to consider your role in this coming war, and if you are at all unsure about it, I ask you to also consider your role in this august body. You all witnessed the executions of four confessed Death Eaters today, all of whom were seditious. Future traitors will be treated the same way."

Her stony glare was intensified by her monocle. Dumbledore loved the effect she had on the audience, some of whom were the crustiest wizards he'd ever met.

"In my second act as Minister, I am about to violate the tenets of this chamber, but it is now time to set aside the old ways—that fostered Voldemort's rise to power in the first place—and look to new traditions and fresh ways of thinking."

She turned her eyes toward the double doors two Aurors were still guarding. She nodded at them and they stepped aside.

"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, King Ragnok of the goblins has requested an audience with us on this day, and I, as Minister for Magic, grant him that audience. King Ragnok, you may enter!" Amelia called.

The double doors swung open and there stood King Ragnok, in his ceremonial mail, scarlet cape, black trousers, and long sword. His long black hair was in a tight pony tail and the ragged scar across his face stood out in all of its glory. He was escorted by four goblin elite guards.

There were some shouts and other noises of protest as the goblin King strode into the chamber accompanied by his guards, but Amelia and Dumbledore ignored them. Most were just watching Ragnok's entrance with wide, disbelieving eyes. The last time a goblin had entered this chamber was at the end of the of the most recent goblin-wizard war, about three hundred years earlier, for the signing of the treaty.

"Thank you, Minister," Ragnok said, in his lilting baritone. "And may I congratulate you on your new position and the swift justice exacted upon the traitors in your midst."

Amelia nodded her head slightly toward Ragnok. Dumbledore watched the byplay, internalizing every minute of it. What had Harry wrought by visiting Gringotts? How far would Ragnok go today?

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Amelia responded, using the honorific and eliciting more gasps from the crowd. "To what do we owe the pleasant surprise of your requested audience?"

Ragnok turned slightly from Amelia to address the chamber; in fact, he ended up turning a full circle by the time he was finished.

"Voldemort, also known as the Dark Lord, perpetrated an attack upon Diagon Alley the magnitude of which has not been seen in my lifetime or any of your lifetimes, or indeed in many generations of lifetimes. If it were not for the quick thinking, selflessness, and heroic courage of seven young witches and wizards, we would have been content to lock down our land and let the world burn, as it were.

"But no more. A wise young wizard—one Neville Longbottom—told me the time had come to make a stand, and that is what the goblins will do. Voldemort threatens our very way of life and everything we hold dear here in the United Kingdom. He despises non-human magical species more than humans without magic, which would surely mean our exile if he were to rule this country.

"To that end, the goblin nation will, from this day until the day Voldemort's spirit no longer lingers on this plane of existence, align itself in the war against him with Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and Amelia Bones."

Dumbledore raised a silent toast to Harry and Neville as the King and his four guards pulled their swords from their scabbards, kneeled, and looked up toward Amelia with the swords across their hearts. The two unsuspecting teens had just played the ultimate prank on the Wizarding world.


End file.
